Falling Up
by Gizmobunny
Summary: With Cosette gone and no money to pay rent, Marius is caught in a downward spiral. Eponine, penniless but caring, is more than eager to help. MariusEponine pairing. Complete.
1. Marius Devastated

**I'm not a Marius/Eponine shipper or anything. I believe that Marius and Cosette were meant for each other. The only problem with that is that I love Marius but hate Cosette. I do rather like Eponine though, so I decided that I'd try a little something and put her together with Marius. So here it is, in all its glory. And I know the title is also the title of a book of children's poems. So be it. I realize that now.

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Chapter One

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**

_My Dearest Marius,_

_By the time you read this I will be well on my way to a new life in England. I might even be there already, or at least in sight of its dreadful shores. I know you will be confused, and I know you will want answers, but I admit that I don't understand it anymore than you. My father is driven away from France by fears of which he refuses to speak. It has been this way for years upon years. Even when living in the convent or safely in our home on the Rue Plumet, I have lived with the sense that he is hiding something from me, and from the rest of the world. It is no doubt for these same reasons that we are fleeing from France on such short notice. I did not know until last night. Please understand that. I am just as stricken as you are. _

_I must let you know now that I may never return. My father has always kept me close under his wing, and in a foreign land in which I am not even acquainted with the language he is sure to keep me even closer. There will be no chance of escape back to you until I am well of age in several years. It would not be fair for me to ask you to wait, with the knowledge that you may never see me again at all. _

* * *

Marius stared in disbelief at the letter for what seemed like ages after he reached the bottom line. The paper had crinkled, he realized, from having been clutched so tightly, and the smallest trace of a tear had slightly smeared Cosette's signature. His eyes fluttered back up to the beginning, skimming the letter once more in hopes that he had misread it, but the words just flew back at him once more, no less painful the second time around.

He was seated, huddled, at the bottom of the creaky stairs leading up to his tenement building. It was almost May, but the crisp air had a chilly edge to it, and Marius was pressed to unroll his sleeves. The only feeling he seemed to manage to take in was the cold around and inside of him and the desolate emptiness of the street he looked out upon. He folded the letter back up and set it on the step beside him, leaving his hand on it for a few seconds afterwards.

Had it been any other evening Marius would have been far across town, making his way for the Café Musain. It was a wonder that he had not already left his tenement when the gangly _gamin _appeared with an envelope in his dirty hand and five shining francs in his pocket. There was no chance of heading off for the meeting at the café now, however. With such despair in his heart he doubted he could force himself to discuss such a subject as revolution with his friends. His mood would not permit. From where he sat now Marius saw little hope of ever facing Les Amis again. He knew Enjolras would have little tolerance for his grief.

It was nearly three quarters of an hour before Marius finally rose from his spot, letter in hand and attempted to ascend the stairs once more. He had briefly pondered the idea of taking a walk before returning home, but his legs already felt weak enough. All he wished now was to collapse onto his bed and fall into a deep sleep in which he might dream he was seated on the stone bench in Cosette's garden, with Cosette beside him.

The hallway was as dim as ever, but the darkness and the dust seemed ever more apparent tonight. As he passed the Thenardier tenement, he heard the noises of the two daughters giggling softly about something. The noise, joyful and childish, seemed as though it was from another planet. Marius was in part annoyed, and in part amazed. The two girls who resided there, young in age yet seemingly mature in terms of hardship and experience, had so much less to look forwards to that Marius. They lived in poverty and faced the possibility of starvation weekly, but they were unafraid. They had never had their hearts broken; maybe that was it. But these circumstances didn't dawn on Marius tonight. The only thing on his mind was Cosette.

Just as Marius reached his own door there was a squeal from behind him and the sound of a door opening that was too large for its frame. It was followed by the bustle of fabric and a hostile hiss of, "'Zelma!" Marius turned around quickly, one eyebrow raised. Standing in the hallway behind him were the two Thenardier girls, one, the oldest and the tallest, clutching her elbow and the other sneering at her sister with her hands on her thin hips.

"Monsieur Marius!" yelped the taller girl, Eponine, a bright smile on her face. She pulled her hand away from her elbow and ran it through her dark brown hair quickly before taking a step forwards. Marius couldn't help but notice that she was barefoot.

"_Salut, _Monsieur Marius," repeated the younger girl, Azelma, a freckled child with blonde hair so dirty it appeared grey and a turned up nose that was red from the sun.

"Hey," he said informally in response. "Do you, uh, want anything?" He knew from a past experience that this was a bad question to ask a impoverished, desperate girl, but frankly he had not a care at the moment.

"Yes, actually," Eponine chirped. "The landlady was looking for you earlier, 'bout thirty minutes ago. She told us that if we saw you to tell you to go find her down in her apartment." She looked at Marius as he listened. When he was done he dropped his gaze and glanced back at his tenement door. "You should prob'ly go ahead and find her," she added.

"She looked kind of mad," Azelma cut in.

Eponine looked at Marius again and noticed a troubled air in the way he stood. Her eyes flitted down to the piece of paper he was holding. Was it bad news? She felt a pang of concern in her chest. "Are you okay?" she asked tentatively, already sure that he was not going to say a word. Beside her, Azelma stifled a giggle.

"I'm fine," he answered, right on cue. Seeing that Eponine had been looking at his letter, he slipped it into his pants pocket and met her gaze. "I'm just tired."

"Would you like some bread?" Eponine went on. "We went out and bought us a loaf today." She motioned back inside of the tenement with her thumb. Azelma looked peeved at this offer and shuffled back through the door, as if to protect her share of the bread.

"No, I'm fine," repeated Marius. "Now I'd better go talk to the landlady." He pulled his coat tighter around his body and turned to head off down the hallway. "I'll see you later, Eponine," he said briskly when he passed the girl. Eponine watched him leave, her hands stuffed into the pockets of the oversized coat she wore over her flimsy clothes, trying her best not to look dejected.

"Gee, bread is certainly the way to a man's heart," Azelma said coldly and sarcastically as she rejoined her sister in the hall. Eponine ignored her and followed Marius out of the building, silent as a mouse.

* * *

Marius reached the landlady's door in a matter of seconds, his heart heavy in his breast. Rapping on her door, he went over the possibilities in his head. Could there be a worse way to end this day, he wondered? If the landlady had been angry, it could only have been bad news. Then again, nothing could have been worse than the letter that was now safely tucked into his pocket.

The door flew open, revealing a woman who hardly reached up to Marius's shoulder. Her gray hair was tucked into an old kerchief and she was dressed in a ratty nightgown. Her room did seem cleaner than the others, however, and she wore shoes on her small feet.

"Eponine Thenardier told me you wanted to see me," he said sheepishly. He expected the woman to usher him into her room, but instead she stepped outside into the night air. A fierce look was in her brown eyes.

"You haven't paid rent in two months," she snapped, and the words hit Marius as hard as Cosette's had.

"Wh… What?" he stammered.

"Rent," she repeated, drawing out the word as though she was talking to an infant or an imbecile. "You haven't paid. Do you have the money now?" She held out her hand as if to take a collection of coins from Marius, but the boy had nothing to offer.

"I'm sorry," he urged himself to say. "I don't get my pay until tomorrow…" He calculated in his head quickly. His pay for the translations would be enough for one month, but two months worth of rent money? It was not to be done.

"You don't have it?" the woman confirmed.

"No, m'am," Marius replied softly.

"Then it is out with you."

Marius stumbled and had to hold his hand out to steady himself on the door frame. Had he heard her correctly? Out?

"Yes, out," she repeated, answering the expression written on the boy's face. "Get your things and leave. Don't come back until you can pay." Then she closed the door.

Marius felt numb as he made his way back upstairs. He could hardly believe the words still ringing in his head. Out… He was being evicted. He didn't have a home. His first instinct told him to find one of the Amis to stay with, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to imagine facing them. He was a wreck. Though Courfeyrac had once housed Marius and would most certainly not mind doing it again, Marius would be pressed to attend the meetings at the Café Musain, something he had no plans on doing any time soon. His thoughts of where to stay were disrupted, however, by the truth that he could think of nothing but Cosette at the time. His heart was breaking all over again just thinking of what pity she would have were she to discover her Marius was homeless.

Marius was not prepared for the dark figure that appeared in front of him as he entered the stairwell. His whole body jumped, and he sucked in a sharp breath in a sort of panicked gasp.

"Monsieur Marius!" Eponine said softly. "It's only me."

Marius put one hand to his temple and groaned, "Eponine…" He kept walking, but the girl followed.

"Marius," she repeated, dropping the formality. "Are you… are you okay?"

"Yeah," he answered sarcastically. "I'm great. And homeless."

Eponine chewed on a gritty fingernail as she entered the hallway behind him. She saw Azelma dart back into the tenement upon seeing Marius returning. "I know," Eponine said quietly as she shut the door behind her. "I heard the whole thing." Whether Marius was offended by her eavesdropping Eponine would never know. He answered her comment only with a grunt and feeble shrug of the shoulders.

"I'm really sorry," Eponine went on. "I mean, I really like having you as a neighbor!" This was obviously not the right thing to say, she figured. The poor boy was troubled, she could tell. His eyes were halfway closed and his steps were steady but weak.

_I finally get to my apartment, _Marius mused to himself as he let himself into the room, _and it's not even mine anymore._ He lit the lamp nearest the doorway as soon as he got inside and threw off his jacket onto the mattress. He was so fatigued that even his flimsy and uncomfortable bed seemed like a gift from heaven at the moment. It was so tempting to fling himself upon it and fall into a deep sleep.

He pulled a case from the corner of his room and began cramming his extra clothing and his translations into it. The blanket on the bed was his, but there was no room in his bag for it, as with the thin pillow and the nice new coat he had hanging up in his wardrobe. He would leave those behind for whatever auspicious tenant might find them in the future.

_I wonder where I'll be then? _he asked himself drearily as he sat down on his bed to take a moment's rest. At last, after checking once around the room and feeling for the letter that was still in his pocket, Marius blew out the lamp and closed the door behind him.

Eponine had gone back to her own room while Marius was packing, but as soon as he passed by her tenement she flung open the door and looked up at him with a look of apprehension and subtle alarm. "Marius!" she blurted out once more before pulling herself together as though she thought she might have broken some sort of rule in saying his name with such intimacy. "Would you, you know, like to maybe stay with us for a while?"

When he didn't answer after several moments:

"I mean, unless you have some friends you'd like to stay with or something. I just… We're here if you need us, me and 'Zelma." Eponine bit her lip awkwardly and kicked one of her bare feet against the floor.

"I have a friend who I can stay with," Marius said at last, only halfway lying. Though he knew Courfeyrac would take him in, he was completely unwilling to stay in the company of others in his current state. "But thanks for the offer, Eponine."

Eponine's flattery at hearing him speak her name was dulled by the sorrow of the situation. "You're welcome," she said in a what was scarcely even a whisper of a voice.

"Goodbye, Eponine," said Marius. "Goodbye Azelma." The two girls waved as he headed out the door, Eponine with tears in her eyes and Azelma with an stupid, unsympathetic grin on her small face.

"How touching," she said to her sister once Marius was gone, in reference to the tears.

"One day you'll be in love, 'Zelma," Eponine replied through muted sobs. "You just watch."

* * *

**TBC**


	2. The Sweepings of the Street

**Okay, here's chapter two, after quite some time. I finished it pretty soon after posting the first chapter, but then I got frustrated with the way it turned out and went back and rewrote the whole thing. This is still, by far, not by best work, but I hope y'all still enjoy it. Chapter three is on its way. :) -Giz

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**

Marius found himself in the Luxembourg gardens sometime around midnight. The crescent of a moon was high and clear, and a few wisps of clouds floated along as if in a stream. The moonlight bathing the flowers and the trees and the large expanses of fresh spring grass should have been a beautiful sight in Marius's eyes, were he not fatigued and sorrowed. In truth, seeing the familiar footpaths and the shadows of the trees spread across the benches was like a pistol to the side of Marius's head, bringing back memories of Cosette. He could almost see her and her father seated on one of those benches in the broad daylight, with Marius himself strolling past. That seemed ages ago now. Cosette seemed ages ago. Even receiving the letter seemed ages ago.

Marius at last took a seat on one of the benches and, after rolling his neck and rubbing his hands together for warmth, he laid down horizontally and rested his head on his suitcase. Sleep came instantly…

…And left just as soon as it had come. Marius woke up to the sound of thunder, of all things. He groaned and sat up, his drooping eyes pointed upward. The moon had disappeared behind a wall of angry, fast-moving clouds. The low rumble came again from the same direction, and this time Marius perceived the slightest hint of lightening in the edge of his vision of the dark sky.

Marius laid his head back down on the case, but kept his eyes open and his coat wrapped tightly around him. Though the moon was no longer visible and there was no clock in sight, Marius knew he could not have gotten more than an hour of sleep. He longed to roll back over and obey the painful urge in his chest to sleep, but his head and his neck ached from his awkward position on the bench, and the impending storm was already keeping him on his toes. His translations would be worth nothing were he to allow them to be soaked.

After several minutes of monitoring the storm and his paining neck, Marius finally got up off of the bench and settled himself on the footpath a few feet away. He felt crazy and knew that as morning came small children would grasp their parents' hands and point at the homeless man sleeping on the ground, but Marius was too tired to be concerned with that.

He had just closed his eyes and fallen into a light doze when the rain started up. There was a brilliant flash visible even through his closed lids, and with the ensuing thunder came a curtain of rain, light at first. Immediately Marius's mind kicked in and he pulled off his coat and wrapped it around his case, hoping his work would remain dry. Suddenly he felt great remorse at having not packed his blanket. As the shower turned into a downpour, Marius curled up more and more until he resembled a nothing but a sodden, shivering child.

Hours later, when the sun began to transform the sky from a shade of midnight blue to a dreary, foggy grey, Marius still lay crouched and soaked through and through on the ground beside the park bench. He had not slept, and now another need was making itself known: hunger. Marius cursed himself for forgetting to pack any of his meager collection of food. The longest night of his life was now behind him, but the longest day was also now before him. How Marius had gone from his small but comforting tenement to the ground of the Luxembourg gardens was a blur. There had been moments in the past hours in which he completely forgot about Cosette and the rent money, and all he knew was the rain and the cold and the emptiness.

The rain still fell in small sprinkles that were more of an annoyance than anything, and the sky was beginning to clear just a bit. Marius looked up at the grey expanse with hatred. He was drenched, and his hair, brown and curly, stuck now to his face like dark seaweed, the rain droplets still running down his face like brine. His clothes were browned by the soil in the streams of rainwater that ran down the path he lay on, and his shoes were full of water more than anything else. Even his suitcase, though wrapped in his woolen coat, was a lost cause, he feared. He had opened it once the worst of the rain was over only to find that his clean clothes were soggy and dirty and, worst of all, his translations were rubbish. His only condolence was that he at least had enough money in his bag to buy some food.

He stood up slowly, feeling the rain dripping down his legs and arms as he did so. He took his coat and wrapped it again around his shoulders, and he tucked his suitcase under one arm. Marius's shoes squishes when he took a step, but at least he had shoes, he figured.

He had not thought until now how very close he was to the Café Musain. There was no longer any memory in his mind of when there was to be a meeting of Les Amis, but he knew at least one of them, if not a few, would be there at this time, or sometime soon, as Marius still didn't know what time of morning it was. The question now, Marius thought with distress, was whether or not he was still reluctant to allow their help. He knew that Enjolras would not tolerate his distress over anything romantic. Enjolras was not the type for sympathy related to anyone. And the others? Marius had no idea how he would approach them about his current devastation.

Marius caught his reflection in a window as he wandered aimlessly down the street. There was no way, he thought, that Cosette would have him now, no matter where she happened to be. He looked like a full-grown urchin, a hopeless case without a job or a sou to his name. He looked pathetic. The few people he passed on the street took one look at his disheveled clothing and soaked bag and immediately looked away. Some of them just stared. He tried to disregard them.

He entered a small square and sat down upon a bench, folding his arms across his chest and laying his bag in the empty space beside him. In the moments that followed he contemplated Cosette.

Never having known a present father, Marius could not comprehend the feeling of being overly protected. He could not comprehend the feeling of being protected at all by family. He could understand, nevertheless. Cosette's father was a stern and mysterious man, a dark figure whom Marius had seen very little of. He only knew M. Fauchelevant to greatly love his daughter, and also to transfer around an awful lot. Cosette talked seldom of him unless it was to urge Marius into secrecy even more, fearful of what her father would think. This led to another thought of Marius's: suppose M. Fauchelevant had found the letters Marius had sent to Cosette? Suppose it was on Marius's behalf that Cosette had left? She would surely hate him for that, he thought. Her letter had been friendly enough, but he could never know what was in her heart at the time she wrote it. He was never going to see her again, after all. He was left after these ponderings with the strangest and coldest feeling that Cosette resented him.

Marius realized that he had been sitting on the bench for almost an hour, lost in though, hardly seeing. The streets were more populated by this time, with students and beggars and working men hastening up and down the sidewalk. Though there was a larger chance now of being spotted by one of his friends, it was also now easier to blend in.

Hungry, Marius stood up from the bench and wandered back towards the streets. He passed some filthy _gamins_ stooped stealthily over a basket of bread, obviously just stolen. Remembering the coins in his bag, he felt a thrill of joy that he would not have to resort to that.

Marius approached a baker's stand and reached into his bag. "One loaf of bread, please," he said. The baker wrapped up a fresh loaf and stated the price of the purchase. But as Marius moved his hand around in the bottom of his briefcase, he came up short. There was nothing there.

"Excuse me, monsieur," he said. He kneeled on one knee and opened the mouth of the bag wide so that he could see inside of it. The money should have been in a small drawstring sack, about the size of his hand, but there was no such thing to be found. He groaned at his stupidity. It must have fallen out. Or perhaps it had been stolen while he slept. Either way, he could not pay for his food.

"_Je suis desole, monsieur," _said Marius. "I have not the money."

He walked away from the baker's stand in a sort of daze. His stomach growled with ferocious hunger now, but he couldn't buy any bread. This was a new feeling. He had always had enough money to support himself, for as long as he had lived. Even over the last couple of years, living in the Gorbeau tenement, below the poverty line, he had not gone hungry. But now, in only a day's time, he had suddenly dropped into the life of a pathetic urchin. He did not feel like Marius Pontmercy anymore, he mused as he wandered back in the direction he had come, aimlessly.

The _gamins_ were still stooped over the now half-empty basket of bread when Marius walked again past them. This time, with only a moment's thought, Marius leaned down to their level and said, "Are you willing to share a piece of that?"

"Got any money?" one of the boys, the oldest by appearance, replied smartly. Marius's face fell.

"No, I have none," he answered, standing back up slowly. The phrase still sounded like the words of another person to Marius.

"Well," said the _gamin_, "I can't share this bread. It's our only bread, and we haven't have breakfast yet. But I can steal you some more, or maybe just show you how." The boy was a pathetic sight. He had matted brown hair that was half-hidden by a torn, ancient hat, and his stick-thin body, emaciated and bony, was clothed with too-small trousers and a chemise that looked like a tent on his small frame. He smiled smartly now, his filthy teeth showing.

"I'm too big to go unnoticed," said Marius. "I would be quite grateful if you would get it for me."

"At your service," the boy chirped, and he ran off in the direction of the baker's. A couple of the boys (there were five) watched him with wonder, but Marius turned his attention back down the road, towards the Café Musain. He could definitely not be seen in such a state.

"You don't talk like a poor person," one of the other boys said suddenly, looking up at Marius. This boy looked rather like Azelma, in the way of his blonde hair that appeared grey due to dirt.

"Is that so?" Marius answered distantly.

It was then that the lead-_gamin_ returned, a hot loaf of bread held firmly in his hands. No one looked at him as he passed, save for a few adults he ran into on his way back. "Here you go," he said, tearing the loaf in half. He handed that smaller half to Marius. "On your way."

"Thanks?" Marius said softly as he headed away, looking at the small piece of bread he held.

"But Jacques!" he heard one of the younger boys cry out behind him. "That wasn't fair!" Marius tuned them out and ate his bread in silence.

The rest of the day was passed wandering the streets or sitting in the park, the area of which he never left. The skies did not clear up; instead, it started raining once more around supper time. By now he was hungry again. He had saved a small bite of his bread from earlier, but that one piece had been eaten halfway through the afternoon. It was quite a hassle to be poor. It was more of one to be homeless. The poor could spend all day in their home if they wished, or working for their living. The homeless had no rest unless it was on a park bench or huddled on the ground. Sure, _gamins_ found pleasure in roaming free, with no home but the streets they called their "mother", but Marius was not a _gamin_. He was a bored, homeless schoolboy of twenty-one years with no place to go. He felt even more pathetic as the day passed by, especially when pondering the often-crossed question of, "How am I to spend tomorrow?"

* * *

By the time darkness fell Marius was once again engulfed by agonizing hunger. He rummaged through his bag for the millionth time to make sure he had not stowed anything to eat in it when he packed the previous night, but it was still empty. He made his way over to the baker's stand. The _gamins_ were not there this time. The baker eyed Marius with familiarity as he passed, and Marius stepped quickly by. The people in the street were taking less notice to him now that it was dark and the light did not show his face very well. He thought this better. He did not like the stares he had been getting. 

The Rue Champollion was not well-lit by any means, and there were many unoccupied buildings with darkened stoops that caught Marius's eye. He was also tired, he discovered upon sighting a prospective bed for the night. The hunger would have to wait, he thought, until he got his hands on some coins with which to pay. He had just laid down on one such stoop when he spotted a young woman turning down the opposite end of the street. She was walking quickly and dressed in an elegant emerald dress, with a gauzy shawl draped over her shoulders. She was rummaging through a small clutch bag, mumbling to herself. Marius caught a sentence as he tuned his hearing to listen: "I know it's in here somewhere. Oh, if I lost it…"

"Do you need any help finding something, mademoiselle," Marius stammered, standing up suddenly and making as though he was exiting the building he had been in front of. He hoped the young woman would pay no attention to the boarded up windows to either side of Marius.

If she did, she showed no sign. "Oh, have you seen a silver ring lying on the pavement?" she asked hopefully. "I know it's dark, but I seem to have lost it, and this is the only road I have been down since getting off the carriage…" She cast her eyes down to the street, still holding the clutch daintily in one hand.

It was then that, without any thought of conscience preceding his rather stupid action, Marius's hunger took the best of him. He broke out into a sudden sprint, as though he was running a race, and when he passed the young woman he reached out and grabbed the bag. A few items fell out of it, but they were never heard hitting the ground, as she let out a piercing shriek immediately: "Thief!" she cried after Marius, but he hardly heard her, his heart was pounding so loudly in his head. He barely even registered that he was still running.

He got to the end of the street and turned the corner, when he heard another voice added into the commotion. "Charlize?" shouted the voice of a man. He was on the other end of the Rue Champollion, from the sounds of it, a ways from where Marius now was. Still, he figured he had little time. As he ran he rummaged through the purse until he found a small collection of coins in a silk pouch. He put this into his coat pocket. All at once, he noticed two familiar forms rounding the corner in front of him. His heart still pounding, he darted into a short, dead-ended alleyway, hoping that the darkness would conceal him.

"My God," he heard a voice say. It was the voice of Marius's friend, Combeferre. A second later Marius saw his tall form pass by the opening, along with another shorter, stouter one.

"She certainly picked the right street to walk down alone," Enjolras said sarcastically, the usual bitter edge to his voice.

"Monsieurs," said the voice of the man whom Marius had heard calling out to the young lady. "Have you seen a young man running by here in the last couple of minutes?"

"_Non_," said Combeferre, apology in his voice. He ruffled his mousy hair and arranged his glasses on his nose. "He must have gone the other way." He motioned in the opposite direction from where Marius had run.

There was a bittersweet feeling listening to his possible salvation from this horrid situation, Marius mused. He had stolen a purse. He had robbed a woman not much older than himself and then run. Did he not deserve to be punished? Yet the rumble in his stomach grew louder. He crept farther into the alleyway. In addition to the pressing hunger, Marius did not wish to be caught pick pocketing by his friends any more than he wished to be caught homeless and deprived.

That was why, when everyone's backs were turned, discussing the robbery and offering various means of assistance (the couple was apparently a well-to-do pair on their way to a party at their friends' house, and Charlize had lost her ring going down the street in the bumpy carriage), Marius bet down and, as silently as possible, left the small clutch on the sidewalk behind where Combeferre and Enjolras were standing. He then receded back into the shadows, and remained crouched there, hardly daring to breathe.

He did not know how long it was before Charlize suddenly chirped, "Look, there it is!" and pushed her husband to bend over and get her bag for her. It was dirty and a little wet from the puddles, and there was a groan when the pair discovered that the coin pouch was gone. Still, they were seemingly satisfied and, after saying goodbye to the pair of students (Marius noticed from his position how Charlize's husband held her more tightly around the waist after seeing by the streetlights the blush on her face when she bid goodbye to Enjolras), they walked away and back down the street from which Marius had just run.

"What a ninny," Enjolras scoffed in reference to Charlize. "Like a few sous would make a difference." Then, he and Combeferre walked away. Marius listened to their footsteps, and once he could tell they were around the corner he exited the alleyway and continued down the street, with the baker's stand in mind. He could only pray that he would not run into Charlize and her husband again, in the event that she might recognize him.

Marius began walking faster once he reached a more populated street, the same street he had been wandering down all day. He passed _gamins_ huddled in the corners of doorways, and suddenly felt more painfully aware of it. Suddenly, just as he was coming off of a curb, Marius absently walked right into something. Rather, right into some_one_. He dropped the pouch and coins rolled around, falling out of the mouth of the small bag. He saw that they were francs, not sous.

"Forgive me, I was not looking where I was going." Marius hurried to try and put the coins back in the pouch, not even looking at the person he had bumped into. This person did not even register in his mind until a familiar voice exclaimed, "Monsieur Marius!"

He looked up and saw Eponine standing over him. Her face was screwed up with concern, and her hands were busy pushing strands of soaked brown hair out of her eyes. She was wearing a patched men's coat over her chemise and skirt. It reached to her knees and she appeared very much like a child.

"Eponine," Marius said in what was hardly louder than a whisper. "I did not see you there…" It had only been a day since he had seen her, but it felt like an eternity. Think of it - all day he had been wandering amongst hundreds of people, never recognizing or stopping to talk to one of them. Eponine seemed somewhat like an angel right now.

"Are you hurt?" she asked worriedly, helping him to his feet. He nodded, rubbing his head slightly as he did so, partly to push his hair out of his face.

"You?" he returned. He tried to stuff the pouch back into his pocket, but it created an unsightly bulge. It would be less conspicuous to carry it.

"You have no idea how worried me and Azelma have been!" Eponine burst out. "Oh, I'm so happy to have found you!" At this point she flung her arms around him forwardly, and when she pulled back she had a large, giddy grin on her face. Retaining the grin, she peered over his shoulders and around the sidewalk they were standing on. "Are you staying with one of your school friends?" she asked. "That Courfeyrac you mentioned… Are you staying with him again?" Eponine was an enigma, that was for sure. She had accomplished her goal of finding Marius, and was now in ecstasies over it, giddy and gay like a small child. Marius, on the other hand, now felt a strange sense of suffocation. He had but two ways out: lie to Eponine and live everyday as he had this one, or tell the truth and be forced to accept her help. He was weighing the options when he noticed that Eponine was looking up at him silently, as though waiting.

"Marius?" she nagged. All at once her smile dissipated and her face turned grave, her eyebrows arching downward in what appeared the offspring of bewilderment and gravity. "You aren't staying with a friend, are you?" Eponine said accusingly, pointing one filthy finger into Marius's face. "You've been out here on the streets all day! Look at you - you're filthy!" If Marius had been a worse and cleaner (at the time) person he would have made a comment right back to Eponine then. As for now, he was too tired to disagree, and he was still hungry. His weariness made his final choice for him.

"Fine, I am not staying with a friend," said Marius. "I lied about that. I… I didn't want you to give up anything for me. You and Azelma need not take care of me as well." Though Marius had not actually studied this aspect of the decision, he was now quite satisfied in its truth and its effect in this argument. The two girls hardly had enough to support themselves. They did not have enough to support themselves and Marius. How would they all survive off of no income? It was impossible.

This was not the reason Marius had initially avoided their aid. What had made him turn down Eponine's offer the first time? Manly pride.

"Yes, we can," Eponine urged, determination in her dark eyes. "Now I care about you, and I won't let you starve in the streets. Come with me." She grabbed his arm and tugged as hard as she could, trying to pull him off the curb. Marius did not budge; he just watched her. Something stirred in his heart upon watching her display of care, and a smile came to his face for the first time in at least two days. There was a childlike innocence in her actions, in the way she tugged like a horse pulling a carriage, trying to get Marius to budge. He was overwhelmed by how adorable the gesture was. Finally, he let his legs go limp and allowed her to pull him off onto the street.

"Fine," Marius said again. "I will come with you." Eponine smiled widely at his answer and let out a giggle.

"Oh, will you?" she said, not as a question but as a thankful remark. She was still holding onto Marius's arm.

Marius reached down to the air beside him, looking to pick up his bag, but with a small amount of despair he found there to be no bag. He had left it on the stoop back in the darkened street. Never mind that, he told himself, as there was nothing of importance in it. Things could get no worse, and at least now he was in good hands.

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**Review please - I'm willing to take any constructive critisicm you can offer. **

**Oh, and I want to know your opinions on how I'm portraying Eponine, and what I need to add or change. I decided that I wanted to portray her as easily excited and kind of moody, simple, but not dumb, if that makes any sense. So I want some input on her, since, after all, this is a story half-centered around her. :) **


	3. In Good Hands

This is not one of those cases in which I post two already finished chapters on the same day. No, I actually started writing this chapter after I posted chapter two, and I just finished it. I will probably get chapter four up in the next couple of days, but I start school on Thursday, and I have company this weekend, so if I don't get it up before then, it could be a while. I tried my hardest in this chapter to follow after somthing a reviewer said, about Marius being too nice to Eponine after just having lost Cosette. So I tried to make him more distant in this one, around the end of the chapter mainly, when I finally attempted to bring Cosette back into the story. So tell me how I did. I love constructive criticism.

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Chapter Three

The first thing that happened upon reaching the Gorbeau building was that the landlady erupted from her room and flagged down Marius. "I thought I kicked you out!" she croaked, holding her shawl over her head to shield herself from the rain, which was still falling in sprinkles.

"No, Madame," Eponine said brightly. "He's with me." She said this phrase with such joy in her heart. She was helping Marius! It put a thrill in her heart as she pulled him through the door and up the creaking stairs and down the hall, a feeling that made this place feel rather like a palace. Her heart was pounding and her mind was racing like fast-motion clockwork as she rapped on her tenement door. "Are you decent?" she called out to Azelma. There was no verbal reply, but a second later the door flew open, revealing Azelma. Her hair was wet; with the water running through it, it looked more blonde than grey, as it usually did.

"Marius?" she questioned, wide-eyed. She looked at her sister. "You head off to find food, and you bring back a boy?" She snorted rudely. "Another mouth."

Eponine frowned and let go of Marius's arm, which she had been holding ever since she dragged him off of that curb more than three quarters of an hour ago. She looked gravely at her sister, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Just start a fire," she said sternly, her head lifted up high and mighty. She was taller than her sister by at least half of a head. "And get out the potatoes we have left."

"Listen, Eponine," Marius said once Azelma's back was turned. "This is going to be too much of a burden on you and your sister. I will just go and find Courfeyrac and ask to stay with him-"

"I won't let you," Eponine said sharply. "You'll just lie to me again and spend another night starving on a park bench!"

Marius thought he need not mention he had passed the night hours not on a bench but on the ground.

"Please forgive me for lying to you, Eponine," he said softly. "I just cannot stand to think that you are giving so much for me. I do not deserve it."

"Ah, always the gentleman, are you?" Eponine scoffed, half-smiling. "You never think you're worthy of someone else's help. You always think you can live on your own. Well, obviously you can't right now, and who is better to help you than someone who genuinely cares about you?" She said this lightheartedly, but her eyes were bright and her voice wavered slightly. Marius noticed this.

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "I will let you take care of me, but only so long as you can provide for the three of us without you and your sister going hungry. Do you understand me?"

"Yes!" Eponine said eagerly, nodding with enthusiasm. "You can count on me, Monsieur Marius." She shoved a thumb at her collarbone, in a way of pointing to herself. Proudly, she ushered Marius into the room and closed the door behind her. It creaked loudly, but she hardly noticed. There was a spring in her step.

Their dinner was composed of potatoes and bread, eaten by hand, with no plates or silverware, and with no seasoning. It was delicious to Marius, though, as his hunger had grown even greater in the time that had elapsed while he watched Azelma prepare the potatoes in a large, rusted pot. Meanwhile Eponine had been scurrying around like a maid, fixing up a pallet for Marius to sleep on when the time came. She had given up her own cot and fixed it up with the heaviest blanket and the softest pillow (Azelma's pillow; the owner was not to realize it was missing until she laid down to sleep). For herself she took a thin mattress that laid flat on the floor, a scanty bed that had belonged to her mother before she had passed.

"Any bed will be nicer than a footpath," Marius stated, sitting down on the bed Eponine had intended for herself. The girl shook her head briskly and told him that it was her bed, not his. She pointed out to him the softer bed in the corner, next to the fireplace. He regarded it with unseeing eyes before falling backwards onto the mattress as if to fall asleep there. Eponine looked at him with a furrowed brow. She stood back up and swapped around the pillows once more, giving Azelma the softer one, a frown on her face all the while.

As soon as they had finished with dinner, Marius thanked the sisters profusely and crawled over to the bed on the floor. In moments he was fast asleep. Azelma followed his example and climbed onto her pallet, leaving Eponine alone and awake in her bed by the window. Cold but humid air seeped in from its uneven edges; it was still raining. She could hear the patter on the roof, and was surprised that no water was leaking in through the ceiling panels. Wait - there was a steady drip of rain, right overhead. Eponine concealed a groan and pulled her small, smelly pillow over her head. With tired eyes, she looked down at Marius, who was fast asleep only a couple of feet away from her, down on the dusty floor. She regarded him with admiration, but for a moment she wondered if he had been right. Was it too much of a burden to support him? Eponine opened her mouth wide to yawn. Only time would tell, she told herself.

* * *

Marius awoke the next morning to the surprising sight of a sunny sky through the clouded window on the wall nearest him. It was still cold in the garret, but at least it was no longer raining outside. Rolling over onto his back, Marius observed that he was alone in the tenement, to his surprise. He had awoken with a sense of perfect orientation, something rare when sleeping in an unfamiliar place, and thus immediately expected the company of the Thenardier girls. They were nowhere in the tenement, however, and he could not hear their voices in the hall. Perhaps it was for the better, he thought. He smelled wretched, he knew, and his eyes were swollen with sleep. At once he noticed a metal bucket beside him on the floor, catching a stream of water dripping from the ceiling above. Eponine or Azelma must have placed it there after Marius had fallen asleep. Sitting up, he examined the water level in the bucket. It was a quarter of the way full. Swiftly so not to cause a disturbance, something a bit absurd considering he was alone, Marius took a handful of rainwater and splashed it on his face. Ah, he breathed. He felt much better.

He did not know how long it was that he lay there on his pallet before he got bored and stood up. He briefly came up with the idea to rummage through his old room in search of more of his savings, money he was sure he had left behind rather than dropped, but with a sigh he remembered that he no longer had his key, and the landlady was sure not to give it over to him now that he was completely broke. Not having the opportunity to do that, Marius settled for just taking a walk around outside. There was nothing much to see with the exception of dirt and broken-down buildings, things Marius had been seeing here for years, but a breath of fresh air, crisp and cold, felt just as good as splashing water on his face had. For the second time, Marius perceived how bizarre it was to be staying next door to his old tenement, but not having the key to enter.

"'Zelma, don't eat any more of it! There won't be a bite left when we get home!"

Marius turned quickly upon hearing Eponine's voice coming around the bend in the street. The two sisters were walking at a near jog down the muddy road, a loaf of bread held tightly in Azelma's hands. A chunk from the end was missing, Marius saw, and the girl's jaw was in motion, chewing the portion in her mouth. Azelma had a soiled pair of stockings on beneath her ratty green dress, which was tied at the waist with a rough cord to keep it from billowing out too much. Eponine was barefoot, her feet covered thickly with mud. She saw Marius at the same time he saw her, and her mouth turned up in a grin. She did not take off running as Marius had come to expect from her, but she did bounce a little as she walked towards him.

"_Bon matin_, Monsieur Marius," she said brightly. "How did you sleep?" There was a slight hint of hope in her voice; she was quizzing him on how well she had done in making a bed for him.

"Wonderful," Marius answered, smiling back in return. "Thank you for all of this, Eponine." Her face went pink, but before it could be told whether or not he noticed, Azelma cut in angrily.

"Go ahead and give him his bread, 'Ponine," she said shoving the loaf at her sister. "I'm hungry."

Eponine broke the loaf into thirds and divvied out the parts as they walked up the stairs and into the tenement. Frustrated with the scratchy material, Azelma peeled off her socks and laid them on her pallet, then sat down beside them and ate her bread slowly. Marius and Eponine did the same, sitting side by side on the floor.

"Best save some for later," Eponine warned when she saw that Marius had only a couple of mouthfuls of bread left. She reached out and put her hand on his, lowering it from his mouth. His eyes flashed an emotion close to sad acceptance, and he muttered a small, "_Oui_." He reached down to his coat to put the bread away in his pocket, but as he did so he felt a bulge within the pocket and remembered: the francs from the night before.

"I had almost forgotten," he said, mostly to himself, as he pulled out the green velvet pouch he had taken from the woman's purse. The girls turned to look at him, and their eyes went wide when they saw what was inside the bag. Eponine bent over from where she was sitting beside Marius, and let out a breathy whistle of amazement.

"_Mon Dieu,_" she exclaimed in awe. Another telltale grin appeared on her face. "Bread for a week! Oh, Monsieur Marius, you are a saint!" She quickly stuffed the last of her bread into her mouth and grinned, her cheeks resembling those of a chipmunk. Azelma did the same, only more slowly and with more care. Marius had noticed over the time he had known the sisters that while Eponine had a playful, childlike innocence and seemed to love nothing more than pleasing those around her, Azelma tried harder to be refined and clean, like the fortunate, and seemed to put herself first. Marius wondered if the poor were to be condemned for that, for thinking of themselves first. It was a twisted chain to come out with the answer.

Marius tried to smile as he looked at Eponine's giggling face, and watched her swallow the lump with a large gulping noise, but thinking about money troubles and the lack of food in families such as this one put his mind back to the day before, on the streets. He saw again the faces of the _gamins_, the younger ones huddled up in groups in the rain, and the older ones splashing through puddles with stolen loaves of bread. All at once, his mind switched back even farther and he thought of Cosette, for the first time since he had fallen asleep in the park the other night. He felt ashamed for having not grieved her departure until now, and this new feeling seemed to fall onto Marius's heart like a lump of steel. He put the rest of the bread in his mouth, chewing it slowly and surely, but he did not taste it.

Eponine was watching him as he thought this, her eyes searching, wondering what he could be thinking about. She stayed silent and wiped the crumbs off her blouse and onto the floor where all of the crumbs went, but she did not stop watching him. He ate the last of his bread without breaking his reverie. We must remember now that when Marius had entered the building after having received the letter, he had not told Eponine and Azelma of his news. They only thought he was despairing because he had been evicted. Eponine was completely lost. Was it the briefcase he had lost? What? She sighed as she messed with the sheets on her pallet, which was behind her. Across the room, Azelma yawned widely and laid down on her mattress, her eyes closed.

"Monsieur Marius?" Eponine said finally, her voice timid and soft. Marius did not look up right away, but when he did she could clearly see the sorrow in his grey eyes, looking right at her for only a moment before turning away. "Marius?" she said again, dropping the formality. He did not look up at her this time. After what seemed like ages of just sitting in silence, Eponine just laid back against her pallet and closed her eyes, just like Azelma. She had not slept the night before; she had spent most of the early hours awake watching Marius breathing deeply beside her, wondering if he was comfortable, if he was warm, if he was happy. Now that was all catching up with her. She did not sleep now, though. She just rested and thought of Marius some more. Yes, it was lucky for her and Azelma (or at least just for Eponine) that Marius was staying with them; it was not often that a beautiful boy stayed in their tenement. But until now, Eponine had not thought once about what had put him in this state. If he had been shoved out on the streets, then he would have been happy to have a place to live, not depressed still, as he seemed. Eponine was contemplating this when Marius spoke up at last.

"She left," he said out of nowhere. His eyes were still glued to the floorboards in front of him. At first Eponine did not know what he was talking about, but when she looked over and saw Azelma stifling a smile directed at her older sister, a painful jolt went through Eponine's heart. _Right_, she thought. _Cosette_.

"Where'd she go?" she asked softly. Her voice caught and the words came out raspy instead.

"England," replied Marius matter-of-factly. "With her father. They just left last night." He moved his eyes from the floor to the wall to his left. "We never said goodbye."

Eponine suddenly understood, and she felt ashamed. She had been so hopeful that inviting Marius to live with her would put her at a higher rank in his eyes. Perhaps he would like her better. He never had seemed to be very fond of her, unless it came to tracking down Cosette and leaving her letters when Marius could not make it. But now… Eponine felt so dirty, and not just because of her clothes and the mud on her feet. She felt like a streetwalker trying to pull in a man who had a wife at home. Of course Marius would not love Eponine. He had Cosette. And however far away she might have been, Eponine knew the saying: "Wait for me". It would only be a matter of time before the Lark came running back to France, old enough to travel on her own, and flew into Marius's arms once more. The only hope Eponine could see for herself in this plot was that at least, thanks to her, Marius would not be starving when Cosette returned, and that did hardly any good for Eponine in the scheme of things.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly after some time, so softly in fact that it would have been a miracle if Marius even heard her.

* * *

As Eponine served Marius flavorless potatoes for the second time that night, she tried her best to keep on smiling, even when she saw the distance in his eyes. They ate in silence, even Azelma, who was almost always either sleeping or complaining. Tonight Azelma ate half of her meal and, complaining briefly and gruffly of a stomachache, fell asleep on her bed before Eponine could even tell her goodnight.

"I'm going to go to bed also," Eponine announced in what she hoped was a kind and light-hearted manner. She blew out the candle they had been seeing by and stopped to rub some of the mud off of her feet before she settled down into the pallet on the floor.

"Eponine," Marius groaned, stooping down next to her.

"Always the gentleman," was her only reply as she looked up at him with her baggy brown eyes. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She heard a sigh of reluctance above her and a creak as Marius crawled into the pallet Eponine had slept on the night before. Then, there was silence. Eponine turned over onto her side once more so that she was looking up at Marius. His form blocked the view of the window; he had his back turned.

"Marius?" she croaked, hardly louder than a whisper. He rolled over and looked at her, unsurprised at her interjection, but still willing to listen.

"I'm really sorry about Cosette," Eponine said drowsily. "I really am." On that note she rolled over for good and decisively pulled the thin blanket over her shoulders. "_Bon soir_," she added lastly.

It was Marius's turn to watch Eponine. He stayed rolled over onto his side and watched her breathe for a few minutes before attempting to sleep. She was the taller sister, but her shoulders were so thin and her back was so bony that she looked no older than a child. One would think her no older than twelve. Yet she been through so much. Her life was cold; her family was harsh; her stomach was empty, yet she still had the will and the kindness to serve Marius a third of their dinner and then wish him a good night while she was, no doubt, still hungry. That girl has no fear, Marius thought. She was so strong. Had he been in any mood to think positively he would have discovered that he had to love her a little for that.

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**Well, that was chapter three. Like I said in the author's note at the top, the next chapter will either be out in the next couple of days, or sometime in the next couple of weeks if I can't get it up by then, since I'm about to start back school, and it will be signifigantly harder to get stories up with that going on. They say junior year is the hardest. **

**So review please, and tell me what you think, good or bad. -Giz**


	4. Stop and Smell the Flowers

**Okay, so I did have time to finish this one before school started back. It's my shortest chapter ever. I have oneshots longer than it. But I'm trying to make my chapters a little shorter so there will be more of them. I hate looking at my story and there only being eleven chapters when I've been writing it forever. **

**Enjoy.**

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The three were relaxing into a pattern over the next few days, they noticed. The sun rose at six in the morning. Eponine did not sleep, so she would rise with the sun and leave the tenement to do nothing more than walk the road in front of 50-52, back and forth and back again. She did not know how long Marius slept, but he always got out of bed around eight, the time Eponine came in from her walking, her feet newly muddied. They would briefly say hello, Marius would stretch his arms and legs, stiff from sleep, and then he would leave the way Eponine came in, walking down to the road to be alone for a while. This left Eponine in the room with Azelma, who slept like a rock and could not be awoken by anything. Still, there was nothing for Eponine to do, so she stretched out on Marius's pallet (every night Eponine would hasten to take the one on the floor before he could get to it) and watch the clouds out of the window.

Today, the fifth day of Marius staying with them, there were no clouds, only an endless blue. There was still a chill in the air, leftover from the abnormally long and cold winter, adding to the clear atmosphere, though, and Eponine could feel it through the uneven edges of the window pane. She was itching to get outside.

"Monsieur Marius," she said brightly as she came out of the Gorbeau building and onto the street. It was one of the first things she had said to him in days. He turned around to face her, his expression once again mild and blank. She walked right up to him so that they would have been face to face were Eponine taller. "It's a nice day. Let's go walking." The boldness in her voice was a bit comforting to Marius; he had secretly feared that by speaking of Cosette he had created an awkward feeling between he and Eponine. He could not tell that her bravery to speak to him was forced.

And so they went walking. Eponine woke her sister, an amazing feat in itself, to invite her to leave the tenement, but Azelma refused the invitation. Her stomach had been bothering her again, she claimed before rolling back over and sticking her head beneath the covers.

"She is always complaining of some ailment," Eponine said in a conversational voice as she and Marius walked down the dirt road towards the more populated areas of the city. Most of the fellow occupants of the road out here were _gamins_ and poor peasants. "I think she is just lazy," Eponine went on. There was a trickling trail of rainwater on the street left over from a rainstorm a couple of nights ago. Eponine made a solitary game of walking one foot in front of the other, attempting to stay on the narrow line. This slowed down the pace of the two walkers, but Marius, though he didn't show it, was entertained by Eponine's little game. He watched as she stumbled a couple of times trying to stay on track, and smiled when she hummed with pride at having completed her goal. On one occasion a pair of _gamins_ came barreling past, their small voices ringing childishly, and bumped into Eponine's side, knocking her off of her feet. Marius was quick to catch her in his arms, with the appearance of a trust fall of sorts. She looked up at him with wide eyes and got back to her feet.

"Always the gentleman," she said again. This was apparently her choice phrase when describing Marius. He did not know what she meant by it, nor in what sense she meant it, as an insult or as a compliment. This time, she said it with a brilliant smile that showed her red gums, but was nonetheless heart-warming. Marius knew she was not being cruel.

They reached the Luxembourg gardens after awhile. Their conversation had been about nothing; casual remarks about the scenery, made by Eponine, and various stories that came to mind, also told by Eponine, and usually centered around her family. She much adored her sister and her brother, Marius could tell. Her brother was a _gamin_, he gathered, and was seldom home. She did not use his name, but she spoke of him with care and love. Eponine had a soft heart, like many a woman, and could caress with her voice and adore with every bit of herself, but she had the power to be brave, and to manage on her own, a feature not seen in many kind women. Marius was fascinated by this. He found Azelma to be nice enough when she was awake and feeling well, but did not think he could manage to think as highly of her as Eponine did. Eponine saw the best, even after years of desolation and poverty.

This made him think slightly of Cosette, of her tender nature and her great love. He missed her greatly, especially when he and Eponine passed through the Garden in the course of their walk. Yet amongst all of the painful, wonderful memories and the beautiful sadness of Cosette's departure, Marius had a thought that did not fit; a question: how would Cosette fare in poverty? She had not been rich; she had not been poor. She had not been underfed, cold, or terribly lonely, and while she had been nothing but kind to Marius, the tone of her final letter contained spite towards her father. Marius knew Eponine did not love her father, but she had never shown hatred towards him, nor towards anybody. If either of the two had the right to be spiteful, it was Eponine. Then again, Cosette had never had the chance to see terrible hate anywhere in her seventeen years. She did not know what to hate, nor how to hate it.

Marius knew not where his mind was going with these thoughts, nor where the thoughts had come from. He tried to push them away. Suddenly he was aware of Eponine's arm tucked around his. He tried not to express his shock, but in a moment he had no need, as he understood what she was doing.

"Aren't the flowers beautiful?" she asked, motioning to a bed of flowers they were passing. All at once she let go and skipped over to the bed and pulled loose two white flowers. She handed one to Marius and tucked the other behind one ear, then grinned her childlike grin. She was trying to make Marius forget about Cosette; not permanently, but at least enough to enjoy such a wonderful day. This attempt was showing in Eponine's brown eyes, in the hopeful way she looked at him, and in the disappointment that was showing itself at seeing that Marius was not happy. Yet at Eponine's attempts, he made himself smile and look over at the flower beds. Seven days ago he would not have been able to pass without eying the flowers; today he had to make himself see them.

"They are lovely," he said, holding onto his flower a bit too hard so that one petal fell off and onto the ground. Eponine tried not to notice. As they walked, she continued to point out various things that were beautiful, or in bloom, or that she just loved to see. She stopped to smell every flower, and then ask Marius to. He would accept, but he would not think as he bent over and took in the scent. They all smelled the same today to him.

The Place Saint-Michel was bustling at noon, with Parisians walking in all directions, and carriages passing by Marius's line of vision every ten seconds. Eponine had let go of his arm several minutes back, but she held it now again just as they were crossing the street. It was as though she was afraid that Marius, in his indifference, would walk out in front of a horse and get trampled. He did have the slight appearance of a child, with his large, blinking eyes and an unsure tremor in his gait. What was he afraid of?

They crossed the intersection and continued on the sidewalk on the other side. "There are lots of people out today," she said brightly. They passed a father holding the hand of a young teen-age girl. "And it's not nearly as cold with the sun so bright!"

She was suddenly pulled off of her course when Marius jerked her aside and started walking swiftly down a side street. "What is it?" she asked hoarsely, trying to be quiet but only achieving raspy. When Marius did not answer, Eponine looked behind them and saw a young man walking past the end of the street they were now on. Eponine recognized him from somewhere.

"I completely forgot about my classes," he said softly. "They will notice I'm missing."

"Marius," protested Eponine. "Why are you so determined to hide this from your friends? You were poor before-" (she regretted saying this as soon as it slipped out of her mouth; it did not, however, appear to offend Marius) "- and they accepted you. They will think no different now. Perhaps one of them will take you in and be able to feed you more than just half a loaf of bread twice a day." She paused as a dreadful thought came to mind. "Or did you not want Monsieur Courfeyrac-" (for that was the friend who had been walking down the sidewalk) "-to see you walking with a street urchin?"

"No, no," Marius was quick to say. "That was not it." They had reached the end of the side street and were now back with the bustling crowd on all sides. Marius appeared nervous once more, despite that they were farther away from the Amis usual haunt now. "I…" He stumbled over his words. Would Eponine understand? "I'm ashamed. Not of being evicted, really. No, I do not mind that so much now. You were right - I have been poor for a long time. I just do not want them to find out that I'm this way over a girl."

All at once Eponine understood. "Masculine pride," she stated, taking the thought right out of Marius's head. She did not appear cross or agonized. She appeared a bit relieved if anything. This made sense now. "You don't think they would be pleased to find out you were skipping out on meetings because you were upset over a girl, right?"

"Right," he repeated. And upon seeing the slightest hint of guilt in Eponine's eyes, he added, "It has nothing to do with being supported by you and your sister, you know that?"

"Yes, Monsieur Marius," she said, her usual grin coming back. She grasped his hand and skipped slightly as they kept walking. Marius, however, resisted slightly as she tried to step forwards.

"Eponine," he said warningly, looking her in the eye. "Don't call me _Monsieur_." Then the sternness vanished from his face and he broke out into a smile. Eponine did not know if it was real, but it made her happy.

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**Review please.**


	5. A Walk in the Woods and What It Leads To

**I will warn you, this is _not _my best chapter. I had ideas, but was having a hard time putting them down, so the sentences came out pretty choppy and unoriginal. **

**I was reading _Les Miserables_ this morning, and I have a new favorite quote that I found: "Marius said to Courfeyrac: 'I have come to sleep with you.'" I laughed out loud when I read that because, of course, that had no meaning back in Hugo's time, but plenty these days. Enjoy the chapter!**

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**Chapter Five**

Marius had with him some coins when they left for their walk, so on the way back he and Eponine stopped at the baker's and bought two loaves of bread. At another stand they paid for three potatoes as well, together making a comfortable meal for three people. Eponine did not grasp Marius's hand on the way back, nor did she feel the need to. His face had regained some of its color, she guessed, from finally mentioning his difficulty with coming clean to his friends.

There was another part of his rejuvenation which Eponine did not know of an would not understand. After having the idea in the park as to whether Cosette would be able to face the troubles Eponine had faced thus far in her life, Marius had begun to think of the two in a sort of comparison. This comparison had by no means a thing to do with his feelings for either of them, as it was clear to him and to all around him that he was in love with Cosette. Yet it had occurred to him as he walked home with Eponine that she was a very good companion for hard times. She looked back at him and smiled. She pointed out the birds and the flowers. She skipped and acted like a child, playing games as she went, and making Marius laugh. Cosette was like a child in a different way. She was sweet and innocent, pure and chaste, like an angel. She was soft and beautiful, and Marius felt almost unworthy in her presence. She had a gentle, chiming voice and an excellent vocabulary form a full education. Marius was attracted to her sharp mind like a planet falling into orbit. He loved her.

It was neither wet nor cold that evening, so, a bit early for supper, the three took their bread and potatoes and sat out on the stoop of the Gorbeau building. The street was as dismal as ever - it would never be anything less - but the air outside was, while not cold, significantly cooler than the air inside the tenement, into which the sun had been shining for eleven hours.

"I could never thank you enough for your francs, Marius," Eponine said warmly as she took a large bite out of her potato. She carefully moved the chunks of food out from between her teeth with her tongue, and she made sure she did not drop a single crumb down her chemise. It was as though having money made Eponine desire to play the part, to be proper in the company of others for once.

Marius felt his face flush at her comment; he did not deserve the thanks, for he had stolen that money. He had not the heart to tell Eponine that. Would she be bitter if she knew he was a thief? Then, a somber thought crossed his mind: how did Eponine and Azelma stay alive if they did not steal for their food? Obviously they had not starved in the absence of their parents. It was a somber topic indeed.

Meanwhile, Azelma had settled herself up against the front wall of the building and stretched her legs out in front of her. She had been asleep for the entirety of the day, so it felt good to be in the warm outdoors with enough space to actually extend all of her limbs without getting in somebody's way. She was quite enjoying the company, however irritable it was to share a room with a boy, especially one to whom all of her sister's attention was directed. That, conversely, was the reason she enjoyed Marius's presence so much. She had never seen her sister quite so smitten with anything, or anyone. Deep in her heart, Azelma did take great joy in watching her sister's happiness; _her _happiness came from Eponine's happiness, it was quite true; but that reasoning was not apparent to Azelma yet. As for now she just found pleasure in watching the "love eyes", as she had once termed them, that Eponine gave Marius with every single glance thrown to him. Eponine adored him; that was no mystery to anyone, Azelma was sure. She had seemed to center her entire being around his whereabouts ever since they met; after she learned where he had classes, she would meander down the street and casually say hello to him as he left, hoping for the appearance that she walked in that direction once every day; once she learned where he met with his friends, she followed him there and sat outside of the door, listening to what they were saying. She did not catch much, Azelma guessed; she came along with Eponine on most of these outings, though she did sometimes fall asleep during the sit-ins at the café, and always left none the wiser.

Marius was a very pretty boy, Azelma would not hesitate to say (she had once heard her sister use these words when talking to him; she believed that was the first day they met, was it not?). He had wavy, mousy brown hair and a round face that had long since been christened adorable, and he always had a pure and innocent aura about him. She did not fancy him, though; she did not and could not, as Eponine had all claim on his person as far as the sisters were concerned. Azelma had not slept through _every_ sit-in at the café, however, so she had gotten a good look at Marius's friends. There was a small one with long, brown hair whom she had watched for quite some time, but his way of crouching over his notebook with his pen every second did not make sense to Azelma who, though she had been well-educated, did not enjoy reading or writing at all. Her attention shifted after this to a taller boy with lighter hair, a slouched stance, and a way of talking with wild, enthusiastic hand gestures. None, however, could compare to the charm, to the beauty, to the magnetism of their leader (Azelma guessed he was their leader, at least). He appeared to be one of the youngest in the group, she noted, but he spoke with the vigorous, educated voice of a man with fifty years of teaching experience. Azelma noticed most of all his golden hair, his muscular build, and his eyes (were they blue, or grey? She could not tell from the corner where she and Eponine hid whenever they came near to the window). She now only watched this boy, with which she was quite smitten.

Marius was the last to finish his food, but when he did he rubbed his stomach in a gesture to show satisfaction with the meal (he had learned from watching the two Thenardier girls what the system was: starvation was hunger; hunger was satisfaction; normality was the feeling of having stuffed oneself). Eponine smile with pleasure. Azelma did nothing: she was still thinking the thoughts we have covered. All at once the elder girl sat straight up (in her attempts to act proper she was already attempting a polite posture, so this was not a far stretch) and grinned gaily. "Let's go wash our feet!"

The exclamation sounded absurd and out of place in the silence, but Eponine said it with the same air that she always exclaimed things: innocently, brightly, and with zeal. Marius was always entertained by these outbursts, though he did not know how to respond to this one. Eponine laughed, a raspy, straining noise only suggesting laughter by the way she was smiling and vibrating.

"We have a creek in the wood behind the building," she explained, grabbing onto Marius's hand and beginning to lead him down the grassy, still-damp section of land on one side of the building. There was indeed a wood behind 50-52 Gorbeau Building, but Marius had never noticed a stream until, a couple of minutes later, he found himself standing before a swelling section of rocky-bottomed creek. Eponine hopped forwards and stuck her feet in the water. She was barefoot, so for Marius to follow he had to strip himself of his shoes and socks and pull his trousers up to his knees before wading into the clear water behind her. The water was colder than the air, and the rocks shifted beneath Marius's weight; Eponine weighed next to nothing; walking across the unstable stones was a cinch. A splashing noise behind them told Marius that Azelma had joined in.

"Look! Water-bugs!" Eponine bent over, the ends of her skirt catching in the water and darkening with moisture. She pointed to a spider-like insect skimming the surface. The gleam in her eyes appeared as the expression of a child presented a gift so large they are not sure what to do with it, when she saw that Marius was watching her, the slightest smile on his round face.

"Surprise!" Azelma giggled as she splashed a handful of creek water onto Eponine's back while the elder girl was still bent over. Eponine squealed and splashed back with her foot, soaking Azelma's green frock and provoking what quickly became a game or sorts, with each girl kicking and splashing at one another until the water no longer felt cold and they appeared as though they were swimming instead of wading up to their ankles. Marius stepped back several feet to watch, carefully avoiding the droplets that veered his way. Deep inside him there was a joy and a longing that tugged at him while he watched, a feeling he did not understand…

…Until Azelma splashed a large jet of water all over Marius's shirt, soaking it through and through. "Oh, Marius!" exclaimed Eponine, laughing loudly and joyfully. Her hands and feet were red with the cold, but her face was rosy with happiness. It made Marius smile to watch her; that was why, instead of backing up farther, he bent over and splashed cold water up at Eponine. "Oh!" she squealed, wiping water from her eyes and grinning wildly. She kicked her leg up to return the water, but she slipped on the rocks instead, her weightlessness working against her for once. Marius reached out to catch her, but her body against his was a shock to his feet on the unstable ground. They both fell over into the water, completely submerged.

Marius's head emerged first, almost immediately followed by Eponine's. The water was not deep; even sitting on the bottom it only came up to the young man's ribs. Nevertheless, he was soaked, cold, strangely happy… and he was holding Eponine. He was as surprised as she was to find that his arms were wrapped around her shoulders, however it had happened. He supposed he had grabbed her on the way down to try and catch her. Still, his face turned bright red; hers was too red already to tell.

"_Mon Dieu_," Azelma exclaimed dramatically, laughter in her voice. "Are you two hurt?" She had obviously seen the way they had landed, for her face appeared happier than it had in a long time, with rosy, high cheekbones and lips that should have been made up were she a rich young girl.

Marius let go of Eponine almost as soon as he saw Azelma's face, but his heart kept pounding rapidly in his chest and in his head, probably from the cold, as he got to his feet and helped her up. He stepped out of the stream and onto the bank, where Azelma was standing, and he unrolled his trouser legs. As Eponine followed behind him, he saw that she was shaking violently; smiling, but still shaking. He was about to offer up his coat, but it too was drenched. Instead, he ignored Azelma and put his arms around the girl as they headed back up to the building. Azelma took the liberty to carry Marius's shoes; she was too delighted by watching her sister carry on with him to impose it upon him to carry his own things.

Eponine felt numb from the cold water, but Marius's arm around her shoulders was like a brand through a bank of snow; her heart beat rapidly and seemed as though it would soon be on fire. She had no idea what to think, though. There was nothing but silence as they walked back up the path (actually, it was more of a direction that an real trail): a dreary silence that carried no lost feelings or trepidation at all, nothing to make Eponine believe that Marius felt anything other than pity that his friend was cold. Even looking subtly up at his face was disappointing and frustrating; he was impassive and blank. The fire in her heart both vanished and burned brighter and angrier at the same time, leaving her shaking and weak. She saw that the sun was going down, and she suddenly wanted to go to bed. Asleep, she would not have to face the question plaguing her: why was Marius holding her so? She was cold, that was why. No matter what happened she would always rank miles below Cosette.

Marius was intimidated by the situation just as much as Eponine, though he did not show it. Truth be told, he felt a faint fluttering in his heart every time he cast his eyes down at her form, now becoming shadowy in the fading light (had they really been outside that long?). This was not something he could dismiss with an excuse (it was because of the cold, it was because his mind was delirious with fatigue, it was because such-and-such). Even more puzzling was the fact that the feeling grew with each glance he stole. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and her head was leaning against Marius's shoulder, her eyes cast down at the ground as they walked. Her hair looked smooth from the water dripping from it, and her face was no longer dirty, having been bathed, however accidentally. Marius felt a tug in his heart, recalling a thought he had had upon meeting Eponine: she had once been pretty. He could say that to himself without a doubt in his heart. It may have been five years ago, or a decade, but there had most certainly been a time during which she was quite a beauty. Had Marius been a stranger to her ways, however, he would never have guessed it; she was not pretty now.

So why was his heart jumping in his chest like this?

All thoughts and questions were thrown aside, however, when they reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to which was unlocked, and heard two familiar voices coming from the upstairs hallway. Marius held fast to the ground and swallowed hard as he heard footsteps reach his door and knock.

* * *

**Ooh, someone is on Marius's trail! I know, way suspensful. I told you I was haivng a hard time making things sound good, which was a real problem when trying to add fluff, since it all came out so stupid no matter how hard I tried. Still, you get the outline of what's happening. **

**Review please, and tell me anything that needs doing. And whoever it was who said why doesn't Marius get a job or something, thanks for asking that. I honestly don't know why he, or rather I, didn't think of that in the first place. I'll work with that idea in the next few chapters. Thanks!**


	6. Words Flow When Darkness Falls

**Chapter Six: Words Flow When Darkness Falls**

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"Marius? Are you in there?" It was Jehan.

Marius put a hand to his forehead and groaned. His hair and clothes were still sopping wet, as with those of the two _gamin _girls beside him; he had not attended a meeting in a week; and he had been absent to every class of his since then as well. This was going to be quite hard to explain.

"Perhaps he moved?" suggested another voice, the voice of Courfeyrac. Behind Marius, Azelma had recognized these two voices and become quite excited.

"If he moved, do you reckon he left an address with the landlady?" Jehan asked. There was a pause. "Enjolras?"

The silence continued for a moment longer, and Marius could almost see the leader weighing the options in his head. There was not much time to think now.

"Yes, she would know, perhaps," Enjolras answered, and the three turned around and headed back down the hallway, towards the stairs, the bottom of which Marius was quite close to. Just as the door at the top creaked open, Marius took action and closed the bottom door, then threw it open as though he were just entering. He silently motioned to the Thenardier girls to follow him.

"Courfeyrac! Enjolras! Jehan!" he exclaimed. "What a surprise!" It was no joke; he really had been surprised by their appearance, more so than they could imagine. "What brings you out here?" It occurred to Marius, partially with the help of a Look from Eponine, that he was beginning to prattle with nerves, so he stopped at that.

"Marius!" said Jehan. "We were looking all over for you! We haven't seen you in days."

"You lazy thing, missing all of your classes," Courfeyrac said with a jesting air. "And from the looks of it-" he looked over at the girls "- to lounge around with the ladies." Azelma and Eponine both blushed. They had not been called "ladies" since they were far too young to even be described by the word. Even ten years later they did not look the part.

"Azelma here has been ill," Marius said too quickly. There was a squeak as Eponine elbowed her sister in the side. Azelma took the hint and coughed appropriately. "I have been looking after the pair of them."

"Always the good, charitable fellow," said Courfeyrac, smiling teasingly. "Enjolras here has been beside himself, what with your vanishing act." Upon hearing his name, Enjolras, who had been staring vaguely off into space, looked up. He made no comment, but experience told Marius that Courfeyrac was joking.

"Well, do take care to join us at the Musain whenever possible," said Courfeyrac. He gave a small salute to the girls as he passed by, obviously on his way out.

"Good to see you alive, old boy," Jehan said smilingly, following Enjolras.

"My thoughts exactly," said the blonde leader, nodding a quick goodbye and turning to catch up with Courfeyrac.

"I wonder whether that is the girl we have been inventing all along," said Jehan, one eyebrow raised, once escaped earshot.

"The tall one?" Enjolras confirmed.

"Quite a charming pair," Courfeyrac mused. "I prefer my women with more teeth, personally-"

"Nicolas," warned Jehan, looking up at his taller friend.

"Marius has a freedom of choice," Enjolras added. "Perhaps it is not his idea of fun to spend every week - nay, every night - with a new woman."

Courfeyrac clicked his tongue. "My dear, sweet, chaste friend," said he. "You are just jealous. Your day will come soon."

"I can only imagine," laughed Prouvaire. "Enjolras with a woman! It just does not fit."

"Remember - we thought the same of Marius," Courfeyrac interrupted.

Enjolras shook his head. "I have more important things to worry about than women, namely-"

"The Republic," Jehan and Courfeyrac said dramatically at the same time. Enjolras paid no attention, but if one had studied his face very carefully at that pinpointed moment, they would have noticed a slight change in color on his cheeks, a tinge of laughter.

"Come," he said. "If he is not back in a week, then we shall return."

* * *

For the first time, it actually felt warm in the box of a tenement. Eponine pulled herself from Marius's arms and lit a fire in the fireplace, and when that was done she removed the blankets from the bed and wrapped herself, Azelma, and Marius with them. She divvied up the last loaf of bread lying on the makeshift table, and they ate in silence in front of the fire, the warmth comforting on their faces. No one made a sound, all the better for all of the thoughts that were racing through Marius's head.

He was embarrassed, mostly, about what had just happened downstairs. He knew now that his fears had been foolish; he had just encountered his friends after days of avoiding him, and he had come out of the experience none the more agonized. Courfeyrac had not really laughed at him, he had just made jokes; Enjolras had not said a thing, but that was his nature. However sharp his mind was, it was always lost in his excellent imagination.

There had been one comment of Courfeyrac's which had struck Marius hard, however: _"You lazy thing, missing all of your classes, and from the looks of it, to lounge around with the ladies."_

Marius did not truly know why he insisted on staying with the Thenardiers. Why would he even have need to tell his friends about Cosette? He certainly had given her little thought what with everything else that had been happening to him in the past week, so it would not be such a loss to have to pretend she never existed. With that mindset, however, he felt as though he was doing Cosette little justice. He had loved her. He still loved her. He would have to be insane, he thought, to forget about her…

Marius had not even realized he was asleep until he awoke to Eponine's hand on his shoulder and Azelma's soft snoring across the room. He looked around groggily and saw that, through the window, the moon was high in the sky. He had been asleep for quite some time.

"I didn't want to wake you up," Eponine said quietly, bending down next to him. She had her blanket wrapped tightly around her. Marius noticed that the fire had gone out, and the room was once again both cold and dark. "You needed the sleep, I could tell."

Marius straightened up his back, feeling it pop in a couple of places, and looked over his shoulder at Eponine. She was seated upon her knees on the hard floor, and one hand held her blanket hard against her chest. Her eyes looked black in the darkness, and her skin looked like paper, giving her the appearance of a ghost in the night, a spirit bending down beside Marius. Had he not been able to feel her touch on his shoulder he might have mistaken her for one.

"Thank you," was all he could think to say. "I _was_ tired." He got up and moved over to the pallet on the floor, but Eponine was too quick for him, even with one hand on her blanket. She planted herself firmly atop it.

"No," she ordered. "Do I have to tell you again, Marius? You are a guest. You sleep up there." She pointed bluntly to the other bed, but in spite of her seriousness Marius had to smile. Her voice had risen with those words, and she sounded rather like a teacher trying to put a problem child in his place. Instead of moving to lie on the taller pallet, Marius sat back down, directly beside Eponine.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said casually; jokingly. "How are you today?" Eponine at first seemed astonished that he was sitting beside her, much less teasing her after these endless days of melancholy.

"Fair," she said smoothly, or at least as smoothly as she could get with her raspy tone. "And you?" She felt a faint flutter in her heart when she looked over again at Marius. It was the same feeling she had gotten that afternoon at the creek, when he wrapped his arm around her.

Marius did not answer. When Eponine turned to see his face, he had a distant look to his features. His eyes seemed to be tuned into some middle distance, his hands falling limply where they rested upon his crossed knees. Eponine made no noise. She just sat back and closed her eyes, her chest filling up with routine deject. She was close to falling asleep when Marius spoke again, some minutes later, bringing her back to her senses.

"I have hardly thought of Cosette this week," he said suddenly. Eponine's breath caught in her throat, and she felt, to an extent, embarrassed. Cosette. Of course.

"Marius…" she began, with not a word in mind to say. She choked, and looked at the floor. She did not need this. She did not want this.

"Eponine," Marius went on. "I feel so… guilty. I am sure she thinks of me every day in England, yet here in France I have not devoted a second to her memory in _days_." He put his fingers to his temples and continued to stare into space. Eponine gulped loudly, trying to swallow the lump rising up in her throat. So many words were bubbling to the surface, deeming themselves handy in a situation like this, what with Azelma asleep in the corner and Eponine truly alone with Marius for the first time. She willed them away, however. Marius had no need to hear her childish wishes now, nor any time for that matter. She was going to act mature for once.

"She wouldn't want this, Marius," Eponine assured him softly, careful of the words that escaped her lips. "How can she expect you to be alone here while she lives her life across the sea?" Marius looked up at her; it was almost as though she had read the letter. A flash of realization passed across his eyes, and he looked once more at the floor of the room.

Eponine continued speaking. "I know you loved her-" (She felt a pain in her heart when she said this) "-and I am not telling you to forget her. But do realize that you have a life here in France that she is no longer part of. It will do you no good to feel such guilt." Eponine was shaking as she finished this last sentence, and a few of the words didn't make it out, a result of the impending tears and her already hoarse voice. She pulled her knees and her blanket even closer to herself and took in a large breath. Her heart was pounding in her head, and for a while that was the only noise beside that of Azelma's heavy breathing.

"You are right," Marius whispered suddenly. A small, surprising smile came to his disheartened face. "Must you always be right?" Eponine stifled a sob and nodded her head; she was fairly sure that Marius saw the single tear that ran down her face. It hung from her chin for a second before dripping onto the linen of her skirt.

"You are the best friend I believe I have ever known, do you know that?" asked Marius, and the girl let out another small sob. She turned away, but Marius watched her, panicking at her tears. "'Ponine?" He nudged her gently, calling her by her nickname. When she did not answer back he reached out and awkwardly draped his arm around her scrawny shoulders. "It's… It's alright. Don't cry…"

Eponine's body immediately stopped shaking. With the back of one hand she wiped the salty tears from her cheeks; with the other hand she clasped the blanket hard to herself. "I'm not crying," she said shakily, turning to face Marius. She hoped that the darkness would aid her lie. "See? I was not crying." But in wiping her face, Eponine had missed one telltale tear below her left eye. She did not realize it until Marius reached out and flicked it away with one finger. He said nothing, but after a moment he reached out and took her hand in his, grasping it gently yet firmly. Eponine almost choked on her own breath to see his large, strong, smooth hand wrapped around her bony, skeletal one. She did not, however, refuse the gesture. She leaned over into his shoulder, grateful that she no longer smelled after today's unexpected bath. Her hair fell in her face and her heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt happy.

They remained like this for a long time, with Marius holding Eponine's hand in his own and Eponine settling her head into the crook of his neck. They breathed in unison, and one might say that their hearts were beating together, unbeknownst, for that transitory time. If the fire had been lit and one had been peering quite closely at their faces, they would have seen a turning-up of Marius's lips, and a tinge of pink in his cheeks. Eponine, still leaning against him, had fallen asleep, but, having slept earlier on, Marius was not tired. Therefore, he remained on the floor with Eponine, gripping her small hand and watching her fidget in her sleep. She was so cold, he noticed. Her face against his neck felt like pressing one's hand against an icebox. Her skin was like tissue in this light, and the veins in her wrist were very visible. Marius had only ever seen her during the day, bearing her dramatic expressions, be it a giddy grin or a violent scowl, when the sun was bright on her freckled face and there was a spring in her step. Now, in the darkness, she looked both younger and older at once. Her playful structure became frail and vulnerable when the sun went down.

Marius's thoughts were interrupted when a grumpy voice, that of Azelma, blurted out the slurred words, "Give me the cat"; obviously she was talking in her sleep. Brought back to his senses, he began to get up from the floor, placing Eponine's head softly on her pillow as he eased her back down into a lying position. Her breathing remained steady and deep, and she did not wake up. Marius climbed up onto the higher pallet beside her and looked down at her one last time. There was a strand of hair in her face; Marius reached down and moved it. Ten minutes later, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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**Remember - review and critique. I know this is not my best work. It was one of those cases where you know exactly what you want to say but when you write it down it doesn't come across all that well.**

**Oh, and whoever it was who said, why doesn't he just get a job or something, well, I'm trying to work that into the next chapter.**

**Thanks for reading! I love your reviews!**


	7. An Upright Man

**Chapter Seven: An Upright Man**

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"Marius! Monsieur Marius!"

Two sunny days later, Eponine bounded her way down the street towards the Gorbeau tenement, her once-again tangled hair bobbing like a single mass behind her head. She was smiling as she rambled back behind the building and into the woods, in which she caught a glimpse of her sister and the young man in question. They were leaning over the brook, and Azelma was poking a stick around in the water.

"See, there's a lot of them," she said quietly, motioning to a group of tiny fish, most likely tadpoles, swimming about in a colony before their eyes. Upon hearing her sister's footsteps coming down the path, Azelma turned swiftly around and dropped the stick into the water completely.

"Is everything alright?" she asked Eponine, who appeared out of breath from running. The older girl smiled and turned to Marius, who was still crouched on the ground beside Azelma, a curious look in his grey eyes. His hair was tousled slightly by a wind that had been blowing that morning. Eponine smiled at him involuntarily; he returned the gesture.

"Marius," she said excitedly, bursting to reveal her news to him. "I finally found you a job!"

Marius's whole face lit up at this. For the past couple of days he and Eponine had been searching on end for a business that required an employee with a knowledge of both English, German, and, of course, French. Marius did not feel he could take back his old translating job after having vanished and never returned his last work. They had been unsuccessful thus far. Now, however, a hope was rekindled.

"That's wonderful!" he exclaimed, coming to his feet. "Where?"

"A little book press about a half hour's walk from here," Eponine answered, wiping sweat from her brow. The weather had taken a turn in the past two days, and it was now a matter of shedding clothing rather than searching for more. "It's run by a M. Desrochers and his wife, and they need a man who can translate foreign papers. I told them I had the person for the job, and they asked if I could bring you in this afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Marius repeated. "Right now?"

Eponine nodded eagerly. "Yes!" She grabbed Marius by the arm and tried to contain the heavy beating in her heart when he did not pull away. "Azelma? Are you going to come with us?" The blonde girl shrugged characteristically and stood up, straightening out her green dress and her tousled hair as she did so.

The book store, which was actually more of a news-stand inside of four walls, smelled of dust and candles, two things Marius was used to, from long years of being cooped up in his tenement with nothing but the two elements mentioned. It was, indeed, only a half hour's walk from 50-52 Gorbeau, though today it had taken considerably longer thanks to a stop by the bakery for a loaf of bread for dinner.

M. Desrochers was a weedy man with a salt and pepper beard and a stumbling way of walking; his wife was plump and rosy. In a way, they reminded Eponine and Azelma of their parents. The couple was quite pleased on both of their parts to meet Marius. Mme. Desrochers had already dubbed him a "pleasant, cheery sort". Marius had fancied himself neither cheery nor pleasant, especially in his current state, but he could not turn down a compliment. At the end of a quarter of an hour, he had the job.

"I'm so happy I could explode!" declared Eponine as they exited the shop. There was indeed a giddy grin on her slight face, and a spring in her step as she walked down the sidewalk ahead of her sister and Marius. Azelma looked pleased as well, only in a less open way. She just smiled and cradled the loaf of bread against herself as though it was a child.

Marius felt a sudden weight on his chest, however. He had been longing to stand back up on his own feet now for days, and finally his opportunity had come along. Now, though, he felt the burden of responsibility. Watching Eponine and Azelma walk in front of him, he felt the same terrible sadness that had overcome him the other night, watching Eponine sleep vulnerably beneath the moonlight. These girls, these children, depended on the money Marius made from here on out. The stolen money had run dry by now, and they were down to only a couple of loaves of bread back in the apartment, alongside enough potatoes to last two meals. Not a second passed, Marius found, when he was not worrying about the Thenardier girls, or even just thinking about them.

He had grown so accustomed to their presence that he could no longer imagine what it must have been like to live in the room next door to them without seeing them ever. There had been a time during which he did not know their names, he remembered. Most of all, he recalled the first day he had spoken with Eponine. It had been an occasion for both a smile and a tear, watching her carry on in front of the mirror as though she had never once had the chance to see herself. He recalled the molding bread atop his dresser, which she gladly scarfed down for food. He recalled the words she had said to him in the first silence they had encountered: _"You are a very pretty boy". _He blushed.

Eponine had been fourteen at that time, three years ago. Yet in spite of the passing time, she had only grown up, adding three inches to her height. She appeared no more weighty than a child, and Marius imagined that if he were to pick her up she would be as light as a feather. He watched with a certain sadness in his heart as she skipped along in front of him. She was lost in a childlike moment again. The other night had been an escape from that, he now knew. Her words had not seemed like they came from the same body that now walked along the cracks in the street and giggled when she toppled over from a loss of balance. She had seemed wiser. More insightful. Most of all, she had seemed older than herself, older than her seventeen years. At the same time, however, she had curled up with her head on Marius's shoulder like a child of ten, only moments after bearing advice that seemed not to come from her own mouth. Perhaps she was a medium? Marius almost chuckled at the thought.

He looked up at Eponine as they turned a street corner on the way back home. She tossed her hair, a hopeless mat, over one shoulder and looked back at him with a falsely coy expression. She was an enigma, he decided.

* * *

The next day, Marius reported to work wearing a damp coat and a set of bags beneath his eyes. It had been Eponine's idea to wash his suit in the brook, not listening to Marius when he told her that there would be no time to let it dry. She had insisted on him heading off to work with a clean outfit. He was also fairly sure now that he would soon be coming down with a cold of sorts. As his clothes had been drying outside atop a tree branch, Marius had been forced to spend the night wrapped in only an old coat of M. Thenardier's and the heaviest of the blankets; it was still cold inside and out, making it all the worse for him to put back on his suit that morning. Eponine had been beside herself trying to find a way to dry the garment for him. _"It is nothing,"_ he had finally shut her up with. _"I will not die from wearing wet clothes for a day."_

M. Desrochers was not a strict man, by any means, Marius was glad to understand when he arrived ten minutes late with a wet suit. He quickly explained the dilemma to his new boss, but the man hardly seemed to care.

"Half of the times my wife gets to hanging out the wash," he had said to Marius, "it ends up storming up a ruckus. I am forced, then, to wear sopping britches for a week until they all dry properly."

The work was hard, and took concentration. Marius leaned over a table in a quiet corner with himself and his work for hours at a time, but M. Desrochers was considerate to not make a sound as long as his employee was working. The time passed quickly after a certain point. It was all the same thing time and time again, until Marius could translate with his eyes half-closed. He left at five that evening with money in his pocket, best of all.

"I could not be happier!" Eponine said at every chance she got. "We are going to be living like royalty in a matter of weeks!" And while there was no way that a few more bites of bread a day could make a difference so soon, the girl did look a bit rounder in the face. There was a light in her eyes. Then again, there had always been a glint of wonder and joy in her eyes, even when she had once described to Marius the horrible, near-suicide-provoking conditions beneath a bridge where she had once lodged. Even during that retelling there had been a giddy stirring within her dark brown eyes.

The third day that Marius walked home from the book store, he passed a nook of a shop on the corner of the street. He would not have seen it were it not for the sound of the bell in the doorway when a large woman with a hideous hat pushed through the door, exiting. As he looked in her direction, Marius caught sight of a dress fixed up on a dressmaker's dummy, perched right in the front window. It was deep red, with spacious skirts and a plain neckline. It looked like the garbs of a homely working woman, but Marius did not have it in mind for any sort of a princess.

* * *

"Azelma, you still have some on your cheek."

Marius arrived home (for that was what he now termed the Thenardier tenement) to find Eponine and Azelma seated by the window, Eponine holding a sort of washrag in her hand. Azelma grimaced and turned when Marius walked into the room.

"Might I ask what is going on in here?" he asked, and Eponine looked up happily from her work.

"I'm afraid I got soot from the fireplace _all over _Azelma's face!" She held up the washrag; it was marked with black. Marius stepped over to where they were sitting, atop the pallet used by Marius, and leaned over. There was indeed a streak of black lining Azelma's cheek.

"She was trying to go after a spider," Azelma explained monotonously, wiggling her nose when a corner of the rag tickled it.

"It was _this _big," explained Eponine, holding up her fist to demonstrate. "I kicked up the soot reaching for it, and Azelma's _head _got in the way."

Marius laughed genuinely. He took the rag from Eponine's hand and wiped the smear off of Azelma's face himself. She winced the cloth met her face; Azelma was not one to be touched.

"I brought home something for you," he said suddenly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small and rectangular and wrapped in neat, gold-colored paper. He handed it to Eponine, and the girl eagerly opened it up.

"Chocolate?" she exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, Monsieur Marius! You shouldn't have!" Still sitting, she threw her arms around the boy's neck with such force that she almost fell. "How can I ever follow such an act?"

Marius shook his head, quite a task while Eponine's arms were wrapped around his shoulders. "You do not have to, Eponine. It is enough for you and your sister to be taking care of me." Eponine blushed brilliantly, though no one saw it.

"We have not had chocolate since we lived at Monfermeil…" Azelma was saying in awe, looking at the bar which was still in her older sister's grasp.

"Ah ha!" exclaimed Eponine, drawing back from Marius. "We shall dine like royalty tonight!"

There was such joy in her eyes that she was almost beautiful for a moment. Marius did not take his eyes off of her for the rest of the evening.

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**You know the routine: read and review.**

**Love, Giz.**


	8. Of Surprises

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Les Mis_, but if Victor Hugo is in need of a diving watch (I'm sure my dad wouldn't miss his), then I'm sure we could work things out and change that...**

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**Chapter Eight: Of Surprises**

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The package was two feet long, a foot wide, and five inches tall, at least. It weighed what must have been two or three pounds, and was wrapped in red and blue tissue paper, the same colors as the items packed inside of it. Marius smiled to himself, quite proud of his work (he had wrapped it himself). Now, as he walked down the street to the Gorbeau building, half an hour behind his usual schedule, he held it firmly under one arm and prayed that the rain hovering above him would not start until he reached his destination.

It had been a week now since Marius had begun working for M. Desrochers at the book shop. He dubbed the act of Eponine finding this job as divine providence. Depending on his effort of work, Marius earned a weighty sum, enough to put bread on the table, and more. Looking down at the package, he smiled again.

He had set aside half of his earnings each day for the past seven days, playacted that he only earned the amount of money the Thenardiers saw, and kept the rest of the money hidden in his coat pocket (Eponine did not dare try to wash it again after the last time). It was as easy as that. Now, after a week, he had earned enough money to buy the dress in the window of the clothing store, plus another in the back he had deemed the right length for Azelma. His only regret was that he had not the money to purchase shoes for the girls. Then again, who knows how willing they would be to wear them after years of going around barefoot?

Marius felt a drop of rain on his forehead (he had not a hat) and quickened his step. The tenement building was already in sight. As he reached the sidewalk in front of the stoop and reached for the doorknob, though, he got the innate sense that something was wrong. Still outside, he could already hear the sound of heavy footfalls in one of the upstairs rooms, a noise that he was certain the Thenardier girls could not be making. He heard a manly voice ring out alongside the new sound of thunder in the distance.

"What…" he began to ask aloud. Suddenly, there was a pattering of feet, and the door swung wide open. Eponine nearly trampled him as she came to a stop, realizing that he was standing right there in front of her.

"Marius!" she exclaimed, shocked. "I was just coming to look for you." There was a glint of fear in one of her eyes.

"What is the matter?" he asked her. "Who is that I hear up there?" Marius looked past her and glanced up the stairs; it was no good, the door at the top was closed.

"My father!" Eponine burst out. "It's my father."

"But I thought-"

"He got out of jail, he and the rest of Patron-Minette! Marius, you have to go!"

"What? Why-" Marius stammered.

"They want me and 'Zelma to hide them for a while, until the police are sure to have stopped looking. You can't stay here, too. I'm… really sorry. If they see us together, who knows what will happen? They might… they might try to rob you or something!" Marius was distressed to see a tear forming in Eponine's eye, threatening to roll down her left cheek. "Oh, and 'Parnasse…No, you _have_ to go!"

"Eponine…" Marius started, but no words would come. After a moment of silence:

"Thank you _so much_ for letting me stay here, Eponine," he said softly but quickly. "I could not be more grateful." Then, he lifted the package from underneath his arm and handed it to her. "I bought something for you and Azelma on the way home from the store today." He reached into his pocket after handing the box to the girl. "And here's the rest of my earnings that aren't already inside." He handed her a fair amount of coins and bills. Eponine's eyes were wide and bright as she took the box and the money. She did not, however, refuse them. She was simply speechless.

"Monsieur Marius…" she said, suddenly beginning to sob. She fell forwards into Marius's chest and buried her face in his coat. "I wish you could stay… Thank _you_ so much! You have helped us more than anyone has, ever! How can I thank you enough?" She looked up at Marius, her brown eyes glittering with tears and swollen around the edges.

"You do not have to, Eponine," said Marius. "You do not have to." With Eponine's head still against his chest, Marius firmly put his arms around her shoulders. She was tall for a girl, so the top of her head was even with his nose. Her tears mingled with his coat collar, and her shaking sobs felt like they might as well have been his own. Marius pulled back slightly from the embrace and, thoughtlessly, kissed the top of her head, right above the hairline. She shuddered and sort of buried herself further, like a dog digging a hole in a yard. All at once, she took a step backwards and wiped her face with the back of her hand. It was starting to rain now, so the two were beginning to be rather soaked, their hair clinging to their foreheads.

"Goodbye, Monsieur Marius," Eponine said just as a voice from upstairs shouted, "Eponine, you slut! Get back up here!" It was once of her dad's friends.

"Eponine," Marius said just as the girl was running off. "Don't call me 'monsieur'." She did not smile this time, nor laugh, nor blush. She just turned and ran, the package under one arm, the money jingling in her pocket, safe and sound.

* * *

Marius only had one option now: Courfeyrac. The boy's flat was a good hour's walk from the Gorbeau building, if Marius remembered correctly. He watched a carriage roll by, felt in his pocket, and half-regretted that he had given _all _of his money to Eponine, when in all likelihood her father would snatch it up as soon as she walked through the door. He would have to walk the whole distance now. 

The rain was not hard, but it was consistent, beating plainly and continuously on Marius's bare head. He turned his collar upward so as to cover more of his neck, but that made no difference in keeping any part of his body dry. He continued to walk listlessly. An upside, the rain was washing his boots clean of dust.

Marius contemplated how strange this afternoon had played out. When he left for the tenement after work, stopping by the dress shop, he had had no idea that when he arrived home, it would only be to be kicked back out onto the streets, and by none other than his sought after "savior", the renowned Thenardier. It disgusted him. Yet the one thing plaguing his mind was not his safety outdoors, but Eponine's and Azelma's safety living with the Patron-Minette. While Marius had never had the misfortune to meet any of these men, nor hear horror stories from those who had, he did not like the thought of leaving two young girls alone with them. It made his stomach churn. While he walked the streets tonight, they might very well be being beaten, or abused, or _worse. _

Marius did not want to think about it anymore. All he wanted to do was make it to the Café (Courfeyrac was sure to be there above all other locations) and sit down with his friends and pretend he was in anyone's shoes but his own.

While he walked, he could not help but relive one feeling: the feeling of kissing Eponine. Yes, he had only kissed the top of her head, but it had sent a chill down his spine. He had felt weak and tense at the same time, being so close to her. He had kissed Cosette on the lips, by all means, but he had not felt this way. With Cosette, he had felt secure and charmed and breathless. With Eponine, he had felt sorrowful, pained, insane, yet comforted. Comfortable. At home. He shuddered thinking about it. Would she be alright with Patron-Minette living in her tenement? Would Azelma be alright? He shook his head, trying to will away these thoughts.

* * *

The Café Musain looked like a memory from a dream when Marius approached it some unthinkable amount of steps later. It was well after seven o' clock, and the lights looked like beacons through the rain. To overcome the trepidation attached with willing himself through those doors, Marius just took one long step and crossed the threshold as quickly as possible. He waved Hello to a couple of the waitresses with whom he was on good terms, and, with a few more strides, he reached the door to the back room. It was now or never. 

"Pontmercy!" The reaction was immediate when he entered the room some seconds later. Every head in the room must have turned, he thought, counting to himself each of the nine Amis, all of whom were looking directly at him. It had been Combeferre who had spoken; he was seated relatively near to the door, his back turned, sharing a table with Enjolras, the latter of whom seemed to have been in some sort of deep concentration, focusing on that middle distance yet again.

"Eh, back from the dead, are we?" said Feuilly with a laugh. "Bossuet, I'm afraid you owe me money."

There was a commotion as Marius made his way into the circle of friends. Questions rang out: "Where have you been?" "What have you been up to?"

"Just looking after a friend of mine," Marius answered nearly truthfully.

"A _lady _friend," Courfeyrac was sure to add to the mix, having been there "first hand". There were some hoots at this comment. Marius did not smile. He removed his coat, setting it on a rack against the wall, and sat down in the chair next to Courfeyrac, across from Grantaire, who was half-asleep and on the verge of a hangover.

Marius usually felt at home around these boys. He could not stop thinking of them and their words while he was away from the café. Now, however, every word said by Enjolras brought Eponine's face to his mind, and the feeling of her forehead to his lips…

"Marius? Why are you puckering like that?" Courfeyrac asked. Marius, blushing brilliantly, just turned away and wished Enjolras would shut up for once. His head was beginning to hurt.

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**Review, please.**


	9. A Portrait of Normality

**I feel so cruel - three days without an update, and the result is a chapter the consists of 804 words, my official Shortest Chapter Ever. I just really wanted to draw out the chapters a little more, so the story will be longer, as I've already mentioned. I already have the next four chapters planned out, but I don't know how long it will take me to get them up here, since I'm going out of town this weekend, I have a project and a paper due next week, plus three tests, and I have a terrible cold, the only upside to which is that I sound a lot like Joly, which makes me excited. I rather love Joly. **

**A closing statement with which we are well-accquainted by now: I do not own _Les Miserables._ **

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**Chapter Nine: A Portrait of Normality**

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The meeting went by in a blur of speech and motion; Marius had, frankly, begun dozing the second Enjolras began to talk atop his table and, as well, above a few of his listeners' heads. It was only at the sound of feet shuffling and chairs screeching on the cluttered floor that Marius opened his eyes to see the face of Feuilly looking down at him from a standing position.

"Enjolras," Feuilly called over his shoulder. "I think you had better brush up on your technique. Your devoted followers are beginning to fall unconscious at the very sound of your voice." The blonde man in question merely scoffed at Feuilly's comment. Marius, on the other hand, sat up straight in his chair and looked around. His neck felt stiff.

"Where's Courfeyrac?" he asked Feuilly.

"He just walked out the door," the brown-haired man replied, motioning to the steps down to the street.

"I will see you tomorrow," Marius said quickly before grabbing his coat, which he had removed and placed on the rack, and heading out the door, into the night. The sidewalk was still wet and glistening from the afternoon's rain.

"Courfeyrac?" he called as he caught up with his friend, who was walking aside Joly and Bossuet.

"Hey?" Courfeyrac brushed his mousy brown hair out of his face and looked down at his younger, shorter friend.

"Would it be possible for me to stay at your flat for a while?" Marius said, trying to keep his tone casual. "I… I have been evicted from mine, and I don't have a place to go."

"Sure," Courfeyrac replied, shrugging. "Do you have anything to pack?"

"Nothing but the clothes on my back."

"Well then," said the older boy. "You are now my guest. Have you had anything to eat?" Marius shook his head. "Well, the three of us-" he motioned to himself, Joly, and Bossuet "-were on our way out to eat dinner. Do you have money?" Again Marius shook his head. "_Mon ami_, what _have _you been doing these past weeks?" Courfeyrac laughed and patted Marius on the back like a brother with his strong arm.

* * *

Marius was made to give up his job at the book store near the Gorbeau building, as it was much too far a distance to travel, even by a fiacre, two times in one day. Instead, for wages, Courfeyrac set him up with the same translating job as before (the bookseller did not remember him). The financial situation was the same for Marius as it had been at the Gorbeau tenement just weeks ago, but having a clean room and a sturdier roof over his head, not to mention a fairly wealthy, by a student's standards, roommate, he felt, altogether, more secure. His one concern, which he did not mention to Courfeyrac, was still the safety of the two girls he had left behind. He thought of them in and day out, but did not dare speak of them to his friend, not knowing the extent to which he would be interrogated, or teased.

Courfeyrac did not seem to mind housing Marius, as far as Marius could see. He borrowed a cot from a friend from who-knows-where (one never wished to ask how Nicolas Courfeyrac obtained relations), giving Marius a bed to sleep in at night, after the first two nights of sleeping on the sofa took a toll on his ailing neck. Together they came up with enough money to keep bread on the table and, on Courfeyrac's part, remain in school. Marius did not know where he stood in his education. His lack of pay and presence in the preceding weeks was sure to have gotten him erased, or kicked out. As of the present, however, he did not feel as though he should worry with such things until he could pay for a lodging of his own, a thing he made it his goal to accomplish before he ate Courfeyrac out of house and home.

The two continued attending meetings at the Musain, unless Marius had a particularly long article to translate that evening. Marius himself could lean one way or the other when it came to the talk of his friends. Yes, he had political opinions, but he was in no mood lately to share them. The government seemed like a blur he did not want to take part in, when he had much smaller things to pay attention to. He could understand how his friends, his richer, freer friends, could fill their minds with such things, but Marius felt he had not the time, what with work and worry.

His life continued like this for several weeks.

Had it not been for the troubles heavy in his heart and expansive in his mind, Marius may have never lived in the Gorbeau tenement at all, it now seemed.

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**Review and critique, please.**


	10. Letters

**Okay, here's (obviously) chapter ten. Chapter eleven might already be up when you read this, I'm not sure. Like I said I'm going out of town tomorrow directly from school, so this evening is the last chance I have. **

**I do not own _Les Mis. _**

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Chapter Ten: Letters

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On a warm, clear afternoon nearly six weeks from the time Marius had left the Thenardiers', a small, dirty-faced, barefooted _gamin_ showed up at the doorway of the Musain, a cream colored enveloped in his hand. He asked for Monsieur Marius, and a woman sweeping the area behind the counter pointed in the direction of the back corridor. 

Marius was sitting in a corner of the room, hunched over his translations, pretending to pay attention to them. He was not alone in the room; Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Feuilly were seated around another table, playing a game of cards in which Marius did not care to take part. When the door opened, the four looked up, expecting Enjolras, who was to be arriving soon, but seeing only the small _gamin_.

"Monsieur Marius?" the child asked. Marius rose from his seat and said, "_Oui_?"

The boy looked for a moment as though he was gathering his bearings to launch into either a long story or a long list. "Gavroche gave this to me," he said slowly. "It's from his sister, who said it came from some people who lived in your tenement, who sent it to you… I don't really remember." The child was quite confused, Marius thought. He took the letter from the grubby hands and read the address on the back. It was from England.

"_Merci beaucoup,_" Marius replied quickly. "Here-" He reached into his coat and handed a sou to the _gamin_, who, grinning, scampered back down the corridor and out of the café.

"Who is it from?" asked Courfeyrac, turning away from the car game, which he was winning with flying colors.

Marius did not answer. He just took his seat once more and opened the letter carefully. The creamy paper and the delicate lady's calligraphy on the envelope gave it the appearance that if he were to handle it too vigorously it would dissolve into powder in his hands. He breathed in slowly; it could have been his imagination at work, but the paper inside did still smell faintly of perfume and flowers.

The letter contained, written in Cosette's telltale script, read as follows:

_My dearest Marius (Oh, how nice it is to use your name again and know that you shall read it), _

_The two months since I have left feel like two separate eternities in my mind. I will not say that England is horrible, for it is not, or at least not for the English. Papa has nearly recreated our house on the Rue Plumet, our lovely little garden and all. He believes it will make me happy. Truly, it only makes me sad, seeing such a familiar sight just outside my window and knowing that just beyond it is a bustling town in which I know no one, and in which no one speaks a language I know. Two of our neighbors are Spanish, says Papa. I was fascinated to at first meeting them, but they talk with such an odd tongue that I can not stand to listen to them for long before my mind wanders. _

_I miss France greatly. Every morning, when I wake up to see the garden outside, I think for a moment that I am home once more. Then, I gaze upon the dreary rooftops outside (the houses are so cluttered here!) and remember that Paris is an ocean away. I still spend my evenings in the garden, as I once did, but it is not the same, not without the hope of seeing your face at any moment on the other side of the gate. The loneliness here is taking away my appetite and my energy. Papa and Toussaint think me ill. Perhaps if they realized that my illness has been brought on by this dreadful move, then they would return me to Paris. Perhaps then we could wed and Papa would not even have to stay in France! _

_Here I am, talking like a silly child. I know Papa would not allow such a thing. I have been trying to get out of him what it was that caused us to take flight in the first place; he had told me nothing. He has always been singular in this sense. He carries around a small suitcase wherever he goes, have I told you? I call it the "inseparable". As I speak it is tucked in a closet in Papa's room. _

_I do wish that I could hear your voice again, Marius. You do not know how greatly I wish it. Every night I dream of our garden. I do hope you will write back to me, will you not? I at last mustered up the courage to tell Papa of you. If he was angry, then he did not show it. After all, anger would do no good in this case. Berating me would not keep away my memories. You are not here, Papa reasons. Writing to you will do me to harm, so he allows me to write, and you to write back. I was so happy when he told me, just moments ago, that I nearly knocked over the inkwell taking my seat to begin writing! What a mess that would have been!_

_I think about you every day, my dear Marius, and every night as well. I dream of the day we will see each other once more. _

_Your beloved Cosette_

Marius put down the letter in silence. He could not hear the sounds of the card game, nor of the added voices since Enjolras and Bahorel had entered moments before. His face was straight; one would not have guessed he had just read a love letter.

Cosette was still in love with him, so it would seem. She had not forgotten him, and, in fact, she "thought about him every day", as she had written, "and every night as well". Marius remembered the feeling he had harbored when he was first in love with Cosette, and tried to imagine that sensation distended by an ocean separating them. He guessed he would have felt desparate; he did not know.

There was a large difference between himself and Cosette, Marius pondered. Two months of separation had only made the heart grow fonder in Cosette's case. Marius understood - she was in a foreign country in which she did not speak the native language. She had nothing to do all day but dream, he imagined. Marius, on the other hand, had had no time to grieve or dream or even think since Cosette's departure, what with the eviction. There had been no room for Cosette in his brain.

Weeks ago, that very thought (_"no room for Cosette"_) would have been chilling to the bone to hear coming from Marius's own mind. He had been as Cosette was now, alone, and always thinking of the other. They were in love. They _still _were, right? This was why Marius felt such guilt. Cosette thought of him constantly, and how often did he give her a moment of though? Maybe eight times since she had moved.

Yet…

If he was still in love with Cosette, Marius thought ludicrously, why did her letter not move him? Why had his heart felt no different after than before? He could picture Cosette's reaction in his head: opening the envelope, smelling the smell of (did Courfeyrac's room have a distinctive odor? Marius had become too accustomed to it to know) on the paper, kissing it before and after each reading (there would be more than one, as is the way of girls), and tucking it away in a drawer for safe-keeping.

Marius folded up the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and put the thing in his coat pocket.

"Courfeyrac?" he called out, interrupting some conversation or another. "Would you loan me your key? I need to head back to the flat." The brunette boy threw Marius his key and watched as his friend went out the door, a blank look on his boyish face.

* * *

_My Dearest Cosette…_

_My Darling Cosette…_

_My Beloved Cosette…_

Marius threw aside his third sheet of paper and looked dumbly at the ink well beside it. He had a candle lit on the other side, as the sun was fading through the already dusty windows. He tapped his quill on the side of the pot and bit his lower lip. He could not even get the opening of the letter right.

_My…_

He scratched out the word, not wanting to waste paper. Two hours had passed since he sat down here at Courfeyrac's desk. Courfeyrac himself had stopped by once, a half of an hour ago, to say something or another about a lady friend of his (her name might have been Marie; Marius did know), meaning that he could not be expected back until the early morning hours, most likely.

_Cosette…_

Another scratch. Marius put down the quill and rubbed his temples with his index fingers. No words came. No love poems, no similes, nothing remotely interesting came to mind (had he cared more he might have gone to Jehan for this). Finally, with a sigh and a heavy blinking of his eyes, Marius put the quill to the paper and began to write.

_Dear Cosette,_

_I am so glad that your father is at least accepting me to the point of letting you write to me occasionally. I have not been able to stop thinking of you since you left. I visit the garden at the Rue Plumet every week, out of habit. The flowers are in bloom this time of the year _(Marius bit his lip: he knew nothing of flowers)_, and it seems illegal that they should be so beautiful while you are not here to see them. _

_I am staying with a friend, Nicolas Courfeyrac, for the time being. I will write his address on the envelope so we can continue to write. With fondest anticipation _(Marius did not really know how these words fit together, but they put across the right meaning, he hoped) _of your next letter, forever yours _(He scratched the last two words out and dotted them with ink so one could not recognize them), _love, Marius. _

He took an envelope, sealed it, and laid it aside for the next time he came across a _gamin_. His heart felt no different than before.

* * *

**"Gasp!" Could it be that the Super Velcro Couple is no more! _Mon Dieu, _I hope so. I despise Cosette with the power of a million suns, no offense to those of you who like her. She's a total Mary Sue when you think about it - tragic past, basically orphaned, gorgeous yet modest, the object of her affection likes her back... It's disgusting!**

**Well, review, please!**


	11. Eponine Desperate

**Okay, this chapter is like a novel compared to the past two chapters - I knew exactly what I wanted to happen, and the chapter, for once, practically wrote itself. I feel pretty good about it, myself. Tell me what you think. **

**I do not own _Les Mis_. I think we've established that, _Mr._ Hugo. **

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**Chapter Eleven: Eponine Desperate ****

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**

On a moonless, murky, nearly starless, impenetrably dark night, in which one could hardly see ten feet ahead of them without a lamp, some days after the events surrounding the arrival of Cosette's letter, and the sending of Marius's, Jehan, on his way to the Musain and quite engrossed in thought, took a wrong turn and ended up on a street with which he was not familiar. He did not realize his mistake until he saw the fading of the streetlamps behind him, looked up, and noticed that he did not at all recognize the stores he was passing, most of which were either locked up or empty. He had started to make his way back in the direction he had come when a raspy cough behind him caught his attention, followed by a whispered curse. He whirled around and saw the shadow of what might have or might not have been a woman.

"Would you care for some company, sir?" asked the voice, now recognizably female. The woman cleared her throat once more.

"No, thank you," Jehan said politely with a subtle gulp. He turned and began walking again.

"You must be lonely, out here all by yourself, sir." This girl, Jehan realized, was also quite young. He felt a tug at his heart.

"No, thank you," he repeated. "I really _must _be going…"

"_Please _sir," the girl blurted, losing her attempted mysterious air. "I have not had a bite to eat in two days, I really do need the money." Before Jehan could open his mouth and decline her again, she took a firm hold on his shoulder and tugged him around backwards, to face her.

It was by possible divine intervention that at this point they were almost at the end of the side street, and the light from the streetlamps was just enough to light up a person's facial features. When Jehan tried to jerk himself out of the girl's grasp, he accidentally tripped her (an action that should have belonged to Bossuet), shoving her entirely out into the light. As a policeman's lamp suddenly reveals the face of a criminal, or the peeling off of a mask reveals the wearer's identity in a moment of truth, the lamplight lit up all of the girl's face at once, and Jehan stopped dead in his tracks.

The poor, desperate streetwalker was none other than Eponine Thenardier.

"Eponine!" he exclaimed at nearly the same time as Eponine cried out, "Monsieur Prouvaire!"

The poor girl seemed in a frenzy at what to do now. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and her breath was short and shallow. It was plain to see that her mind was working like a train off its track inside of her head. Jehan looked her up and down. She was barefoot, bruised, and dressed in a red working woman's dress that seemed to be fairly new. The dress would have puzzled him longer were it not that upon reaching her face he noticed tears welling up in them and rushing over onto her dirty cheeks.

"Eponine," Jehan repeated, more softly this time. As he was a gentle creature by nature and by choice, he took her in his arms and wrapped her up in a warm embrace. She had not been expecting this, especially not from one of Marius's political friends, and upon the gesture she began to cry in big baby sobs. Jehan felt a tug at his heart, and said, "Let me take you back to the café, and we'll get you fed." He let go of her and looked her in the eye. "Okay?"

Eponine nodded and took Jehan's arm, which he offered as they began to walk. She reached up with one hand and wiped the salty tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured almost incoherently.

"Do not worry about it, Eponine," Jehan answered. "Everything is going to be alright." She nodded again, but before there was complete silence, Jehan dared to ask, "What is it that has happened since Marius left you?"

And through a series of sobs and some nearly incoherent words, she told him.

* * *

A few minutes away, at the Café Musain, the Amis were beginning to experience mixed feelings of impatience and concern at the absence of Jehan. Enjolras tapped the tips of his fingers on the table he was leaning against; he was feeling more impatience than concern, it was obvious. 

"He told me he would be here," he said, more to himself than anyone else. Combeferre was the only one close enough to hear him.

"Give him a little more time, Julien," he said in an assuring voice. "For all we know, he could come walking through that door at this very second." Upon speaking this commonly used phrase, which is usually followed by the ironic arrival of the person in question, Combeferre and Enjolras turned their heads towards the door, almost expecting it to open immediately. It didn't.

"He'll be here," Combeferre said once more.

As if it were a stage cue almost missed, the door, at that precise moment, opened widely, and in walked Jehan. He was not alone; holding onto his arm was what almost appeared to be a small child, had she been shorter. All mistress jokes were avoided by the way she was shaking as though she might fall apart into a puddle of tears. The room went almost silent.

"Marius?" Jehan asked clearly, and the curly-haired boy rose shakily from the back of the room, where he had been sitting once again beside Courfeyrac.

"'Ponine…" Marius gasped, his jaw both dropping and shaking at the same time.

"Marius!" Eponine pulled herself free of Jehan and, with so much fervor one would not recognize her as the same trembling girl from the street, she leapt nimbly past all in the way and threw herself ungracefully into Marius's arms. It was an instant reaction - she buried her face in his coat, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly and lovingly. He felt her begin to shake in his arms; she was crying again.

"Eponine, what's wrong?" he asked, but she did not say anything. Jehan walked over in a few strides and said softly, "I found her walking the streets." Had Eponine felt she had any honor to retain, she would have willed Jehan not to mention her whereabouts, but as for now she was content and busied with enjoying Marius's presence once more.

Marius took the words like bullets to the breast; he felt tears of his own welling up in his eyes. The other boys in the room had anticipated Marius's request, and Enjolras stood up in his seat and announced in a loud voice, "Meeting closed." The Amis cleared out of the backroom faster than Marius had ever seen them move. Not a minute later, he and Eponine were alone.

"'Ponine," he said softly in her ear. "What is wrong? What has happened?"

Eponine did not look up at him when she turned her head away from his chest; she averted her eyes and pretended to look at the map of France on the wall. "I needed the money," she said, almost choking on her words. "I needed it, so I got it the only way I knew how."

Marius stroked her hair, not even taking notice to how dirty and matted it was. "It's okay now," he assured her. "But why did you need the money, 'Ponine? I want to help you."

After a moment of silence, Eponine suddenly pulled herself away from Marius, an action he was not expecting. For a fraction of a moment, he continued to attempt to stroke the air where her hair had been.

"It's Azelma!" she blurted out, more tears rolling down her face, which was already glistening with wetness. "She's… I don't know what's wrong with her. But she's sick. _Really _sick! There was no way I could afford to find her a doctor, even with the money you gave us-" (Marius thanked God that, judging by what Eponine had said, and what she was wearing, her father and his friends had not robbed her) "-so I took to the streets and sold…" She started crying even harder. "I sold the only thing I had left."

Marius took her by the shoulders and sat her down in a chair. She tucked her hands underneath her thighs, looked down at the floor, and sucked in a large breath, trying to will the tears away.

"What's wrong with Azelma?" Marius asked. He then remembered what Eponine had said and rephrased it. "I mean, what kind of … symptoms?"

"She can't eat a thing, she says her stomach hurts too bad, or if she does eat she throws it all back up," Eponine said. "And she's real feverish looking, sweating and all. And yesterday, she couldn't even talk right. She sounded like she was choking on … on herself, or something." The whole thing came out as slowly and calmly as possible, which, at the moment, was still rushed and jumbled. Had Marius been unaccustomed to her speech patterns, he would not have understood a word.

"'Ponine," he said quietly, bending down closely to look her in the eye. "I'll get Joly to look at her, alright? He's a doctor. It'll be fine." He helped her out of her chair and, one arm securely around her shoulder, led her to the door and down the stairs to the street.

Marius expected to have to track Joly down at his flat, but, to his surprise, the entire group was waiting quietly at the bottom of the stairs, as though waiting for him.

"In case you needed any help," Courfeyrac explained quickly. Marius thanked them and turned to Joly, who was standing farthest from the door, tapping his cane atop his foot absently.

"Joly," he said quietly and privately. "Eponine's sister is very sick. She doesn't know what's the matter with her. Do you think you, or Combeferre, could help her any?"

"Sure," Joly said as brightly as possible. Then he called softly over his shoulder, "Bossuet, tell Musichetta where I am going, will you?" His bald friend agreed, and the three - Joly, Marius, and Eponine - set off in the direction of the Gorbeau building.

* * *

They arrived by fiacre some half-hour later. For the entire trip, Joly had rubbed his nose with his cane, while Eponine lay like a huddled child, nearly horizontal, in Marius's arms. The night was intimidating now, with no moon and no stars and hardly even a street light this far out. 

Joly had never seen Marius's old lodgings, and he had the air of one carefully avoiding rudeness upon seeing the horrid state of another's house as they entered the building and traipsed noisily up the squeaking stairs. The upstairs hallway was dismal, and the first thing that happened once they walked through the door was that Joly sneezed loudly.

"'Ponine?" called out a sudden voice from in the tenement, obviously not the voice of Azelma Thenardier. Eponine, as it was her own home, took the liberty of opening the door and leading the way into the minuscule apartment. There was a fire lit in the fireplace. Huddled in front of it, sitting as though attempting to compress himself into the smallest life form he could manage, was Gavroche. He looked up at Marius and Joly, the latter of whom looked right back at him (Joly had no idea of the relation between Eponine and the young _gamin_ who frequented the café as if he himself was one of the Amis), and huddled even closer to himself. Gavroche was, as Eponine had been seen weeks ago by Marius, one of those creatures who appears sturdy and alive by day, but becomes, after sunset, a ghost, an image of deprivation and loneliness. Joly was chilled by the way the boy's eyes looked black, and his skin white as tissue paper, and just as fragile. He looked as sickly as the creature Joly's eyes rested on next.

Azelma was laid out on the pallet away from the window, her usual bed, but the scene looked different than usual. She took up less space, it seemed, and the blanket was heavier and had no holes in it, a heavenly item in this space, an angel among furnishings (Marius figured she had bought it herself, either by his money or the money she had been earning in however long she had been on the streets). The girl's blonde hair was fanned out around her ashen face like a halo, and her body, down to the waist, where the blanket had not covered, seemed no more weighty than a skeleton. Marius felt as though he were looking upon one already dead. He in fact feared the worst until the girl stirred in her sleep. She began coughing in wretched, dry coughs that seemed to choke her. Marius could not tell if she had been woken up by the fit or not, for her eyes remained closed and she continued to moan softly and piteously, squirming beneath the covers. Eponine stepped forwards and pulled the blanket up to her sister's shoulders.

"What is the matter with her?" Joly asked. Eponine knew what he meant, and she, in almost a whisper, recited the same list of symptoms Marius had heard back at the café. Joly asked Eponine to step aside. Slowly, he drew back the covers, and began checking vitals. Eponine turned away, and Marius followed. He stepped over to the window and observed nothing while Eponine bent down to the floor and spoke softly to her brother.

"Everything is going to work out fine, 'Vroche, you just see," was the only broken sentence Marius caught. He kept his gaze steady out the window and consumed himself in a mind free of coherent thoughts. He turned around what seemed like hours later at the sound of Joly's voice.

"I-" he started, but stopped again to tuck Azelma back in and take a deep breath. "I can't find anything wrong with her. I thought it might be her appendix, but there is no swelling in that area. Her stomach hurts, you said?" Eponine nodded. "I can't say anything for sure, but it could be stomach ulcers…" Joly trailed off and looked back at the girl, who was once again coughing. "But that wouldn't cause any choking or difficulty of speech." He rubbed his temples and looked at his feet. "Unless…" He turned around, pulled the covers back down, and performed some more vital checks that Marius watched with unseeing eyes.

"Her stomach…" Joly muttered to himself. "It could be that, somehow, her stomach has managed to dislodge itself." Eponine gasped harshly, and Marius felt his own stomach churn at the thought.

"What?" Eponine said breathily.

"I have never heard of it," said Joly. "But it's possible, what with her choking, throwing up, stomach pains… It all fits together." He stood up straight and tapped his cane on his shoe again. "I will see my professor tomorrow in class. I can ask about it, if you think we can wait until then?" He toned the last statement as more of a question.

"I just want to know what's the matter with her," Eponine croaked.

They said their goodbyes to Joly on the front stoop of the building before walking back upstairs to the room which now seemed like more of a death chamber. When they got back inside the tenement after several minutes, Azelma's coughing had ceased, and Gavroche was seemingly attempting to sleep in the corner, on the pallet on the floor, which he had dragged in front of the fire. The two sat upon floor beside the boy, their backs against the wall, and said nothing.

* * *

**Stop whining - no, I'm not going to say anything about what happens next. I have the next three chapters planned out thoroughly, and I'm not changing it one bit. **

**But before I forget - I don't want to come to a writer's block in this story, ever. But I'm having trouble deciding - should I attempt the barricades, or would it end up too drawn-out and too much like the rest of these kind of stories? You know, romance torn up by violence (not that I would let that happen). I do want some more chapter arc things like what's happening right now. You know, things to keep it moving. Just in case I decide not to put in the barricades (I'm leaning away from it - it depressess me unless it's a story where they win, and there's too much politics involved in that). So everybody, please send in ideas. I really would appreciate it!**

**Thanks, Giz. **


	12. I Will Stay With You

**Chapter Twelve: I'll Stay With You

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**

Eponine slept fitfully for a couple of hours after she finally fell asleep, but when she woke she felt as though she had not slept at all and had, perhaps, gotten more exhausted in doing so. Her neck and head hurt intensely, creating an odd pulsing behind her eyes, blurring her vision and forcing her to keep them firmly closed. She pulled her legs up against her and tried to rock herself back to sleep. Just as she did so, a few strangled coughs from Azelma woke her back up completely. With out realizing it, she let out a huffy groan as she turned her back to the rest of the room and shut her eyes once more. No sleep came. She felt intense jealousy as she looked over at her brother, who was curled up, fast asleep, in front of the still-burning fire.

Suddenly, Eponine felt a hand grab onto her own, which was crossed over her chest and draped over her right hip. Startled, she turned around and saw Marius looking down at her, concerned.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered over the sounds of Azelma snoring (even in sickness) and Gavroche breathing heavily.

Eponine shook her head drearily; she felt wretched with fatigue and filthy with who-knows-what from her nights on the street, between which she had not had time to bathe, but for the moment she could not care less about her presentation. In spite of her condition, Marius scooted towards her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She heaved a shudder at seeing his body so close to hers. Whatever plans she had had for a moment like this suddenly became jumbled and broken, and all she could think to do was settle herself further into his embrace.

"Do you think she's going to live?" Eponine asked Marius, her voice low so as not to awaken her brother. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could breathe them back in; she did not want to ponder the question herself, what with the possibility that she might not like the answer.

"I…" Marius began, stuttering. "I can't say, Eponine. I really can't say anything right now. But Joly is a smart man. He knows what he's doing, and I'm sure his teacher will know what to do even further. So don't worry." He swallowed hard, toying with her hair with one hand.

"I just don't want to lose her," whispered Eponine with some difficulty. "She's the only real family I've still got." Her eyes were transfixed on her sister's bed.

"You have Gavroche," offered Marius.

"He doesn't want me."

Marius shook his head. "I'm sure that's not true, Eponine."

The girl nodded, and Marius heard a sniffle. "He spends all of his time on the streets. He goes about like he doesn't have a family at all." She paused. "That's a horrible thing - not to have a family, I mean. That's why I don't want to lose Azelma. I love her."

Marius clutched Eponine's hand and shoulders. "And she loves you," he said. "She will not give up to whatever this is without a fight. Do you hear me?" Eponine nodded, and there was silence as she rocked back and forth in Marius's arms, tears falling onto Marius's hands.

"Do you know what I'm afraid of, Marius?" she asked suddenly.

"What?"

"I was always taught that God puts all of us on this planet for a purpose, something we're s'posed to do." She looked up at him, twisting her neck so that she could meet his gaze. The uncharacteristic darkness in her brown eyes, now brimming with tears, made Marius want to look away. "Well, I've always been afraid - what if God put me here to die and make an impact in someone else, someone else who would cry and suddenly realize something that they've been s'posed to figure out? Inside themselves, I mean?" Before Marius could speak, she went on.

"Now, all I'm afraid of is that Azelma's one of those people, put here to die and shake us all up. I don't know how it could possibly help anyone if she died, but you never know…" She was crying full-force, and Marius suddenly found tears streaming down his own cheeks.

"Eponine," he whispered hoarsely. "That isn't true. Don't think that way."

"How do you_ know_?" she answered, her voice cracking with fatigue and tears. "_No _one knows. And no one will ever know until they die. What if all of 'Zelma's life was just leading up to this, to die?" Shaking, she grasped Marius's hand harder and lowered her head, not wanting to see the tears she had only just noticed on his face. The nonsense she was sure her words sounded like only made her more aware of her appearance. Her dress was streaked with dirt, and she looked like a skeleton, she was sure. The day her father had taken to the streets once more Eponine had taken the dress out of its box and tried it on immediately. The landlady had been quite surprised when the ragamuffin of a teenager came knocking on her door asking to borrow her looking glass. To her dismay, however, Eponine found that the dress swallowed her up, engulfing her as an army blanket would. She had been trying to wear it with pride; she would never feel pretty, but a new dress gave her a sense of security. She had not wanted to wear Marius's present when she took to the streets for money, but she had nothing else she could even count as clothing. The dress had been grabbed at, tousled, ripped, and ruined in just two days of use. The skirt had been torn up to her calves, and she was terribly aware of her bone-thin ankles sticking out from the dress like pins out of a hideously thin pincushion.

All of this only added to her sobbing.

"'Ponine," Marius repeated firmly. "That isn't true. God doesn't put people here just to die. That's not the kind of purpose He means. Now your sister loves you very much," he said again. "She _won't_ give up without a fight."

He looked back down at her face, and was surprised to find that they were only a couple of inches apart. He stiffened, and felt a heavy blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Do you really think that?" Eponine whispered. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was sure Marius could hear it.

"I really do."

And in that moment of poignant silence that followed, their lips met.

It was the kiss of the awkward youthful lovers new to the idea, still fresh to the concept and unsure of quite how it worked. Eponine, it must be remembered, had been walking the streets many a time and knew how to kiss, and how to go further; yet in the face of this dream and of this reality, she was like game caught in front of the hunter. Her heart stopped moving, and her head started spinning.

It did not last forever. It did not last very long at all. Before Eponine knew it she was looking into Marius's grey eyes as he stared, transfixed, back at her. Their hands, still clasped, were shaking with emotion. They were both breathing again.

"_Je t'aime," _Eponine whispered in one of those breaths. She did not know whether or not Marius heard her words; he just leaned over and pulled her into a deep embrace.

"Everything is going to be alright, Eponine," he said into her ear. "Just wait and see."

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews and suggestions, especially to running in circles. I'm officially going to attempt the barricades! They should show up in about five chapters or so, but since I'm trying to make them the best I can, it might take a long time to get the whole thing up. I'm trying to be original, and already have a few vague ideas. The worst thing about this story is that I had no earthly idea of how I wanted it to end when I started out writing it, and I still don't, so be prepared for who knows what after that arc gets over with.**

**Thanks again! Love, Giz.**


	13. Till You Are Sleeping

**Chapter Thirteen: Till You Are Sleeping**

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When Eponine woke up the next morning, a harsh, glinting ray of sunlight was shining right into her eye, blinding her, and for a moment she did not know whether she was awake or still dreaming. Then, she heard the softest sound imaginable: a sniffle so subtle it might have been her imagination. She rolled over and immediately focused in on Marius lying beside her in the floor, his head lolled sideways in a deep sleep. Only thirty seconds fresh of sleep, Eponine remembered nothing of the night before.

When she sat up, Eponine saw the source of the sniffle. Her brother was standing stock still at the side of Azelma's pallet. Eponine could not see his face from the front, but she perceived the tiniest of tear drops on his dirty chin. She took in the nervous breathing and the frantic blinking of his eyelids, and the way he seemed drawn towards and away from the bedside all at once; and she understood.

"Gavroche," she said in a near-whisper as she rose into a standing position, a difficult task after having slept against a wall for seven hours; her back felt as stiff as a board. Her brother either did not hear her, or was pretending that very thing. He only stared down at the form on the pallet, an occasional sob shaking his body. Eponine put her hand on his shoulder; his head barely reached her chin.

The picture of Azelma lying on the dirty, rough mattress in the shambled tenement was one of sorrow and irony. It has always been a puzzle how the sickly and the helplessly impoverished are transformed into beings of ethereal beauty only upon the hour of death. Azelma was an angel, with her blonde hair, appearing clean for once, fanned out around her fragile bird-bone face, still moist with sweat from the night. Her skin was as white as cotton clouds, and the blanket pulled up to her shoulders engulfed her almost entirely, giving her the innocent appearance of a six year old child, rather than that of a surly street girl of fifteen. She did not look like herself, Eponine noted with sadness. This gave the tragedy more finality, she felt, as though the real Azelma had been entirely gone days ago, and Eponine had not even realized it. Now she was only looking at a vessel; nothing real to say goodbye to. This pale shell of a girl was not Azelma Thenardier.

Eponine was not crying, but the urge came up her throat like vomit when she looked down and saw that Gavroche was not even bothering to hide the tears running down his cheeks. There was, at this moment, nothing more touching to her than a broken _gamin_, and the urge to cry became even stronger. Still, no tears came out; she began to sob, but it was in dry gulps. "C'mere," she said softly, pulling her little brother into a hug, turning his head away from Azelma's body. He did not need to see it.

"I hadn't seen her in almost a year," Gavroche whispered as he settled into his sister's embrace and began to sob.

It might have been the sound of the boy's tears or the disturbing abnormality, easily sensed, of death in the room that, some twenty minutes later, roused the still-sleeping Marius. He too opened his eyes to the brightness from the window, and it took him a moment before he really saw what was going on. As with Eponine, he took one look and understood.

Eponine had gone into the situation as a figure of all comfort. Marius, however, became a figure of sense and business. He hugged Eponine tightly for a moment, leaned over to wipe a couple of tears off of Gavroche's cheek and embrace him as well, and moved to observe Azelma in the same way that her sister had. Then, without turning around, he said plainly, "I'll go tell Joly not to come." There was grief in his voice, and when he leaned over and gave Eponine a peck on the cheek she could sense his sympathy, for he had known Azelma as well as anyone else outside the family, but when he walked out of the tenement a moment later the girl felt somehow emptier than before. It was as though she had been waiting for Marius's comfort only for this to happen. All build-up and no result. She touched her cheek where she had kissed it; it tingled and pained her. She now remembered. Oh, what bad luck that the morning-after Eponine had always dreamed of would be ruined by such tragedy!

Sometime in the silence that followed Marius's departure, Gavroche stopped crying and wriggled out of his sister's embrace. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of one grimy hand and sniffed back the rest of the tears with quiet drama. Eponine watched with unseeing eyes as the boy adjusted his lopsided hat atop his head, picked a little dirt off of his shoes, and wiped his face down one more time. He was a pitiful sight, more obviously eleven now than he ever had been before.

"I'm going out," he mumbled, motioning towards the door. There was a short silence in which he seemed to be looking at his sister in search of approval, but when she did not even look at him he turned and went about leaving. Eponine was alone again.

She did not look at Azelma, however drawing it was. She moved about the room, picking up various items and returning them to their places; adjusting the blankets on the beds; killing a couple of spiders that crossed her path. At last, when she did not feel as though she could stay in the room any longer, she left through the door in a flurry, hating to leave Azelma alone, but realizing that it no longer mattered. She marched across the tall grass behind 50-52 Gorbeau and directly towards the creek in the woods, her bare feet slapping clumsily on the packed, sporadically grass-covered soil. The morning was muggy and warm, and the sky was brilliantly blue, but she did not care to notice any of this. She walked with purpose; what that purpose was she was not sure.

As soon as she reached the water's edge, she sat herself down, threw her feet into the water, leaned over against the closest tree, and began to cry. She cried as hard as she ever had, until her tiny body shook and her face was screwed up into a shade of purple. She collapsed over onto the ground, getting dirt all over herself, but she could be covered in mud and not care less at the moment. There was nothing around for miles right now to her.

She cried for Azelma, for everything the girl was and everything she would be missing. It was so cruel of God, Eponine scorned, to create such a beautiful day for Azelma to die on. Her sister had never been one to care for nature and beauty (if it were not her own or that of a passing man), but Eponine knew, she just _knew_, that if Azelma had recovered she might have paid more attention. A million tears flowed for the future Azelma was not to be a part of. A million more came as Eponine's mind retraced the past; not the days in this hideous neighborhood, but those at the inn in Monfermeil. She closed her eyes and saw the red hearth rug before the fireplace, the fluffy cat all dressed up in doll clothes, the boisterous laughter of the guests at the table as Eponine and Azelma sat playing in the living room. Each memory was like a bullet. Then, Azelma had been a scampering, naïve child, less mischievous as her sister, but ten times more eager and wide-eyed at the world. She had been pretty and plump, with blonde ringlets that looked like a heavenly light, and dimpled elbows and knees. Eponine cried harder upon the thought that that little child had died a long time ago.

"_Maman_," she cried aloud, her voice high and helpless like that of a child. "I want you here!" The sound rang off the surrounding trees, coming back to Eponine's ears like a call from up the path, but bringing no one with it. She cried harder when she thought that no one was coming for her right now. Her mother was gone, her father would not come even if he were still living in the Gorbeau tenement, Gavroche was somewhere wandering the streets by himself, and Marius was out searching for his friend, Monsieur Joly.

Marius. Eponine summoned up a fresh spring of tears for him. His face popped into her mind the way it had looked last night, in the half-light of the early morning, as he leaned in close to her and whispered to her. He had said everything would be okay. Had she been in her right mind and had Marius been someone else, Eponine would have felt resentment that his words had turned out to be false. He, however, had nothing to do with it, and Eponine knew that. She just kept hearing his words, and seeing his face, and the tears kept coming, especially when the kiss replayed itself in her mind. She could almost feel it again, like a keepsake locked up in a treasure box. He loved her! she thought with a muffled joy. If he did not, then why would he have kissed her? She recalled her reaction: _Je t'aime_, she had said. She knew she meant that, and wished he would assure her of the same thing. Her heart was bursting with so many things, including this very wish to hear him speak to her so that she could examine his words, possibly catching the answer.

But Marius was not here. A part of Eponine envisioned him coming down the path behind her all of the sudden, coming to hold her as he had last night. She tuned her ear in that direction. No sound met it. He was not coming; he did not even know she was here. Eponine rolled back over so her face was buried in the dirt, and she kept crying, more for herself now than anything. She deserved it just a little, she felt.

* * *

They did not have enough money for a burial.

Marius emptied his purse, and Eponine searched the tenement backwards and forwards, even the corner which housed Azelma's pallet, over which the girl's blanket had been thrown. Only the faint outline of a person lying beneath it was visible. Still, they came up short by a large sum. They would have asked Gavroche for help, as an eleven year old beggar was far more useful than one of seventeen, but the boy had not returned all day (it was now nearly seven o'clock in the evening). Eponine showed no worry on her brother's part; she understood his desire to stay as far away as possible from the Gorbeau building.

The earlier part of the afternoon had been spent looking into the matter, after Marius had returned from the café (he had been held up by questions and offers from friends that, from this standpoint, he realized he might have to accept). They had only found one cemetery in which they could afford to bury Azelma, a pitiful plot of land just down the street, home to bodies from families similar to their own. Still, there was the question of a casket. Out of ideas and unwilling to even consider the idea of working on the streets, Eponine suggested that Marius ask to borrow money from one of his friends. She knew that he considered himself above debt, but hoped that he believed this to be a noble enough cause to break out of that train of thought for once. To her surprise, he agreed to do just that. He headed down to the Musain around eight, traveling by fiacre, and returned an hour later with Jehan, Joly, and enough francs for a substantial casket.

The night went by in a whirl for Eponine. Joly and Jehan stayed with them in the tenement, both sleeping on the floor alongside Marius (none of the three actually slept, Eponine knew in her gut), while Eponine was forced upon the comfortable pallet near the window. To her surprise, she slept like a baby, despite the knowledge creeping into her mind that the body of her sister was lying only feet away from her. While asleep, she dreamed of Monfermeil. Gavroche must had come in some time during the night, for when Eponine awoke he was laying beside the older boys on the floor. They breakfasted on a loaf of bread brought by Joly, eating in complete silence out of awkwardness and unspoken respect.

The funeral took place at noon, in the rustic graveyard (hardly able to be called a cemetery) down the street. The gravedigger left immediately after having finished the grave, and lacking money for a real priest to speak, Marius was pressed to perform the informal ceremony. He spoke awkwardly and with little eloquence, keeping his eyes on the Thenardiers the entire time. Both Eponine and Gavroche spent the entirety of the event staring either into space or at their feet, and when Marius asked if anyone would like to say some words about their sister, neither of them spoke up. Not a person there knew quite what was to be said at a funeral. Marius did not remember his mother, and had not been acquainted with his father when the man died. Joly had been an only child with an uneventful childhood that passed with no less family than it had started out with. Even Jehan, with the poetic mind and the beautiful tongue for speech, did not have anything to say. He had not known Azelma until she had died.

It was another odd happening that in the wake of the freeing of a wonderful, youthful soul such as Azelma Thenardier, the funeral guests remained dead silent.


	14. The Gift

**I'm SO sorry about the wait, but I've been totally tied up with school. I have, like, four papers due on Monday. **

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: The Gift**

* * *

"If you need any help taking care of them," Jehan said some time later, "all of us are more than happy to be of assistance."

"Thank you," answered Marius, not really paying attention. The three young men were standing in a small congregation near the fence of the cemetery. It had been almost an hour, but Eponine and Gavroche were still standing beside the grave, the latter sitting on and picking at the grass, while his sister seemed focused on some sort of middle distance. Marius had been watching her. He had not been able to keep his eyes off of her. His friends had noticed, but Marius did not know. Their silence saved his embarrassment and, in part, his own knowledge.

From his standpoint, nothing had been said about the other night, about what had happened; Eponine must have forgotten. She had been tired after all, almost delirious with fatigue. Perhaps she had never even known. Perhaps the words said were subconscious, an utterance directed at someone who was not there, coming from a feverish dream. Marius did not know whether this idea upset him or relieved him. It was a bold concept to be loved by a girl.

Either way, he tried to push this enigma out of his head by saying, "I'm not sure if she would want to stay in the same tenement without her sister there, you know?" An effect of his months living with the Thenardiers was beginning to show through when he spoke, and began to relax into the speech and informality Eponine spoke with. "But I could never squeeze the two of them into Courfeyrac's flat along with me as well," he went on. "It's enough of a squeeze for two people." He scratched his head and squinted into the harsh sunlight; for the second day in a row the weather was as clear as a crystal.

"I would offer up _my_ flat," Joly said, "but Musichetta and Bossuet take up an awful lot of room as it is." He said this with great regret in his voice. Marius could hear that it was quite apparent they were trying to help him.

"I hardly even have what one would _call_ a flat," Jehan added into the conversation in a quiet voice.

Appearing that there was nothing left to be done, Joly straightened his hat on his head and tapped his cane atop his foot nervously. "I have somewhere to be in an hour," he said ruefully. "But if you need any help, I can certainly stay."

Marius was touched by the concern, but he waved it off and sent his two friends on their ways, leaving him alone with the Thenardiers, both of whom were still beside the grave.

"Are you ready to leave?" he called gently. Eponine turned around where she was standing; her eyes were piggy and red from tears, and her hands were in similar shape from having been wrung so violently throughout the makeshift service.

"Sure," she muttered nearly inaudibly. She summoned her brother up off the ground, and with a final glance behind him the two began to walk through the tall grass towards where Marius was standing. Just down the street, the fiacre containing Jehan and Joly was heading off across town, seemingly isolating them once more. Marius watched Gavroche through apprehensive eyes; he was concerned with the idea that at any moment the child would abandon his recent familial contact and head back out to the streets, leaving Marius alone with Eponine. This thought was not yet comfortable, Marius reasoned.

"Joly and Jehan give their deepest sympathies," he told them softly. "They did not know how to say anything to you." Eponine did not know quite how to take this, but it did not matter. Her face was as blank as a clean chalkboard, and any emotion felt was hidden inside of the turmoil she felt her brain had become in the past few days, ever since Azelma had become sick.

"It was very nice of them to come," she replied politely.

"They said they would be happy to help us any time we needed them," relayed Marius. "Joly offered to stay here with us. Would you like him to?" Eponine shook her head.

"Me 'n Gavroche will be fine," she said declaratively. Marius noted a change in her voice; during the time they had been living together in the Gorbeau tenement, Eponine had slowly started to change the way she spoke, draining out the argot and attempting to sound as well-educated as she could. In the allotted time since Marius had last seen her, though, her old speech patterns seemed to have returned. She sounded lazy and cocky at once, just like her brother.

Marius looked down at his watch, only to find that it was not on his wrist. "I had better be getting to work," he said cautiously. "If you need anything, then just go to the Musain. Someone will be there." He set his hat more firmly on his head and looked for a moment at the siblings. They looked overly lucid, as though they were human pets trained to only speak on command. Acting on hesitant impulse, Marius leaned over and gave Eponine a peck on the cheek; a short, delicate movement. She flinched a little, and then reached up to touch her face, but before she could say anything, Marius was on his way to find a fiacre.

* * *

When Marius finally got away from the book shop at about five o' clock that evening, he immediately started heading back towards the Gorbeau building, both relieved and anxious at seeing Eponine and, he presumed, Gavroche again. He did not know what to say to them any more than Joly and Jehan had that morning at the funeral. The difference was that he had known Azelma, and felt something, but he did not know how to verbalize it without risking tears on Eponine's part. It was a man thing, he guessed. Every man he had ever met, with the possible exception of Jean Prouvaire, had a gene within them that denied them the ability to show or tolerate outward sorrow.

Just as Marius was passing the café, checking through the window just in case the Thenardiers had followed his guidance and stopped by there for help with something, he felt a hand brush against his shoulder. Before he would react with his prepared shock, a voice said, "Pontmercy!" It was Bossuet, having apparently dashed across the street to get a hold of his friend.

"Bossuet," Marius acknowledged. "It's good to see you." His eyes darted over to the entryway of the Musain, but he did not see any Thenardiers inside. He did not know if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"I have some news for you," Bossuet said cheerfully. Expecting it to involve politics, something Marius could not bring himself to care decently about right now, he just nodded his head politely, as to say, "Proceed."

"Enjolras's father decided that he wasn't going to pay for his son's tuition anymore," the young man went on. "So Enjolras has to pay for it all by himself now, but even after having taken up the job of tutoring his professor's daughter, he won't have enough money to pay rent."

"And how," asked Marius, "is Enjolras being homeless supposed to be good news to me?"

"That is not the point," said Bossuet. "Let me finish. Now, Combeferre offered to share his flat with Enjolras, since he's the only one with enough room, and the only one who stays up as late as our dear leader doing schoolwork. But Joly had an idea, and told the landlady not to give the flat away to anyone else quite yet. And can you guess what that idea was?" Marius shook his head "no".

"Well, he and Jehan noticed how shabby the Gorbeau place was, and decided that, if you agreed to it, we would all pitch in on the rent and give the place over to you and the Thenardiers."

Marius was speechless.

The immediate reaction inside of him was joy at the idea of getting Eponine out of the grubby tenement and into what he, knowing nothing of her past, assumed to be her first real home, devoid of spiders and holes in the wall (at least, Marius presumed that any residence formerly inhabited by Enjolras would not be pest-ridden and falling apart). He could only imagine the joy he would feel at seeing the poor girl sleep underneath a real roof, inside of a real building, in a good neighborhood. He could not imagine anything he would like to see more.

On the other hand, Bossuet had said, "you and the Thenardiers", not just "the Thenardiers". Marius felt a butterfly feeling in his gut when he realized this. The arrangement of the earlier weeks, when he had been staying with Eponine and Azelma, had gone perfectly fine. Now, however, it would just be he and Eponine (Gavroche would not stay for long, even if offered a warm bed, Marius knew). All of the sudden, he heard her words whispered into his ear once more: "_Je t'aime_." It was one thing to have a girl tell him she loved him. It was another thing entirely to have to share an apartment with a girl who had told him she loved him. As to whether or not she meant it, Marius had yet to make up his mind. Eponine was not always entirely lucid.

"Alright," Marius answered slowly. Bossuet, who was almost as good at reading into emotions as Jehan was, saw the doubt and conflict in Marius's eyes. He smiled.

"Let me guess," he went on. "You are nervous about sharing a flat with a girl? Never fear, _mon ami_, I am sure Courfeyrac will have some advice for you."

Marius blushed greatly at this remark.

"I am only joking," said Bossuet, grinning widely. "Now are you going to agree to this, or not? I need to tell Enjolras so he can hand over the keys to you."

* * *

"Eponine?"

It did not take long for Marius to locate the girl once he got back to the Gorbeau building. The sun was going down, and there were bugs about, vibrant all around, but Eponine was nonetheless seated firmly back in the wood, just barely visible from the side yard of the building.

"Eponine?" Marius called again. The girl turned around languidly, her brown hair, pulled back by a string, whipping around over her shoulder with little grace. Her eyes were no longer piggy and swollen, but the redness had become a circle of purple since Marius had last seen her earlier that afternoon.

"Marius," she acknowledged in a raspy voice.

He sat down next to her on the dirt floor of the wood, not caring about the fate of his trousers. Closer to the water, he could see small tadpole-like fish swimming around in it, against the current, just as Azelma had once shown him, more than a month and a half ago. It seemed almost like a separate lifetime to him now. "I talked to someone on the way home from work," Marius said to her, "and I have something to ask you."

Eponine's eyes lit up, interested. She pulled absently at the end of her frizzing hair and looked apprehensively at the ground beneath her. "What?" she asked shortly.

"Enjolras is moving out of his flat," Marius began, "and Joly decided that instead of letting it sell, they could all split the rent, and give it over to _us_."

Eponine was obviously stunned by the proposal. "What?" she repeated. "You mean, they would pay for it and _everything_?" Marius could see the plain bewilderment on her face. Was she that unused to kindness? The boy felt a lump come up in his throat as he nodded his head.

"Until we can pay for it ourselves."

Eponine looked deep in thought for what might have been several minutes, before she finally looked back up and met Marius's gaze (he had not realized until now that he had been staring at her the entire time). "I… I would love to move into it," she said slowly.

Marius felt thrilled and nervous at the same time as he helped Eponine to her feet. He felt his heart skip a beat when he looked down at her; she was smiling a little bit. Suddenly, it was beautiful.


	15. Something to Get Used To

**Yeah, I'm finally back, still bogged down with homework, but not dead, or anything. I've been working on this chapter every time I've gotten the chance over the past week, which wasn't really that often. But here it finally is.**

**I don't own _Les Mis._**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Something to Get Used To**

* * *

Several days passed, and now it was almost June. The weather was growing warmer, but also worse; the ground was constantly spongy with rainwater. The days were longer, and the nights were shorter, and with such low clouds that a humid moisture seemed to be lingering like smoke over the entire Latin Quarter. In the midst of one of these hot summer nights, Eponine was lying awake in bed, looking up at the ceiling. The first thing she had done upon moving into Enjolras's old flat with herself, her brother, and Marius was move the double bed she and Gavroche would be sharing so that it was positioned right in front of the window, where she could open up the pane and let whatever cool air there might be into the apartment. When the sky was clear (this was seldom), she could see the stars. Now, she could only see the alleyway below and a hint of the streets, but it was a view nonetheless. She had been taking in this view for some hours now; she had not slept a single second, and yet she did not want to. The reason behind this will be examined.

Lying directly to her right, hogging most of the blanket they shared, was Gavroche, fast asleep and breathing deeply. She had been both shocked and relieved when he chose to spend his nights in the flat rather than on the streets. For once, these past few days, he had been acting more and more like her little brother, and less like the street urchin who would just as soon call his sister "Mademoiselle" than any other young woman on the streets. He had even taken to bathing as often as the other members of his mismatched household. All of this considered, Eponine had never loved him more.

Beyond her brother's sleeping form, Eponine could see the single bed squeezed into the opposite corner. Lying atop the covers of this bed (it was too hot for blankets when one was not next to the window as the Thenardiers were) was Marius, his chest rising and falling steadily. He had been sleeping very well, Eponine had noticed with joy, and no longer did he go about during the day with purple bags beneath his lovely grey eyes (his mousy brown hair nearly hid them, however; just the other morning Eponine had argued lightly with him about trimming up the ends so they were out of his face. Gavroche had unnecessarily noted that it had sounded just like a lover's quarrel, causing each of them to blush, and Gavroche to smile as any younger brother would).

What her brother had said teasingly had shed a new light on the life the three of them were now living. As the days dragged on, Eponine noticed how much they resembled an actual family, with two parents and a young child (though eleven, Gavroche had not grown since he was six), living on one income in a small flat. By day, Marius worked, Eponine kept house, and Gavroche played in the street. When evening came, Eponine would take up the wife's position and cook dinner while Marius kicked off his shoes and relaxed for a while, often falling asleep to the sound of the girl's light singing in the next room (though most of it was off-pitch, it was still a soothing, familiar noise), and the cries through the window of Gavroche playing in the streets with his _gamin _friends. Then, at night, they would all sleep together in one room, with a roof over their heads, and wake up in the morning to repeat the entire thing over.

The whole thing was very surreal, Eponine thought. For the past eight years, she had spent each night either crammed inside that mouse hole of a tenement, or freezing underneath a bridge somewhere. The days of her childhood back in Monfermeil were like brief snippets from good dreams now, but with time, she knew, her days in abject poverty would be as well. Her only regret at this move was that Azelma was not alive to experience it.

The two sisters had always been somewhat close, in the manner that they had endured their harsh childhoods hand in hand, and had known each other best in the world. It had still only been a couple of weeks since Azelma's death, and Eponine did cry some, but the warmth and happiness she now had was enough to dry her tears. It was a cliché, she knew, but it was still comfort to know that Azelma would have _wanted _her to be happy like this, even in the wake of tragedy. Though Azelma had always been the worldly, practical one, clinging more to creature comforts than Eponine had, she had had big heart; a big heart Eponine dramatically missed. A cure for this? She had Marius.

It was not that life with Marius had completely wiped away all of Eponine's woes concerning her sister, but having him there made her feel safe and content with the way things were going for her now. It made her feel like she really did have a place for once. Sure, it was not marriage, or even love, but it was _living with him_, and that was enough for her, just to lie here in her bed, as she was on this night, and watch him sleeping across the room. The lust in the depths of her heart urged on the desire to climb over into his bed and spend the night there, but she knew that that would be taking things out of proportion. Sure, he had kissed her the other night, but that had not meant anything. Eponine was over it by now. It had been an accident, she had reasoned. If he _really _loved her, he would have said so when she told him the same thing. Eponine sometimes felt childish at having been so outspoken about her feelings. Still, she could not calm the way her mind worked, and when she did sleep at night, she imagined herself married and happily settled in with her beloved Marius. As Azelma had been comforted by food and blankets, Eponine found more solace in her imagination that anything else. If only the things she imagined would come true, now…

* * *

One morning in the next week, Eponine was out of eggs, and as Marius had not the time to buy any more on his way to work, he dropped Eponine and Gavroche off at the Café Musain, and gave orders to his friends to look after the two through breakfast. As it was a weekday, and many of the boys had classes, the only ones present in the front of the café were Jehan, who was scribbling away in a notebook once more, and Bahorel, who was attempting to become friendly with a new waitress.

"_Bon matin_, Eponine," Jehan said brightly, putting away his poetry for once. "_Bon matin_, Gavroche. How have you two been doing?"

"_Bien, merci_," replied Eponine, taking a seat across from him. Gavroche, in the meantime, appeared to be feigning a distraction by something outside; his sister understood. He was embarrassed to be around Jehan after having been crying the last time they saw each other. This is summed up in a phrase we will surely recall: manly pride, only with a slightly smaller man. "And how are the two of you?" Bahorel was paying little attention to them, so Jehan answered for both of them.

"Fine, both of us," he said, absently tapping on the edge of his notebook with the end of his pen. Jehan was a particular fellow, Eponine mused. He was like a child in the way he nervously picked at things whenever a silence came, and in the way the smallest, most meaningless word would make his cheeks turn red. He smiled awkwardly and fidgeted his tiny frame when in front of people. Without a doubt, Jean Prouvaire struck Eponine as her favorite of Marius's friends. He made her feel confident, as the pair of them seemed to have a similar timidity before strangers. They were agreeable company to each other.

"How can anyone get a thing done in this place?" Bahorel asked all of the sudden, breaking into the conversation as he watched, from the corner of his eye, the attractive young waitress disappear, blushing, into the kitchen. "That little tittering noise makes my head want to spin!" He was referring to a trio of three elderly women who were chatting in girlish, gossipy voices over coffee on the other side of the room. "I'll bet you anything that all this time we've been waiting, Enjolras has been asleep back there over his work!" Eponine winced, as Bahorel had a tendency to boom when he became excited even in the least.

"What has he been doing that he must be alone for?" she asked quietly.

Jehan exchanged glances with Bahorel, but the older of the boys had already departed through the door that led down the corridor and into the back room. He answered, "It is not an easy thing to say, Mademoiselle. Something to do with politics."

Eponine scowled with more drama than suited her mood. "Are you saying I wouldn't understand?"

"No, not at all, Eponine," Jehan answered, blushing. "It's just… Never mind. Forget I said a thing."

"Is this about that silly revolution my brother used to keep blabbering about?"

At this question, Jehan's jaw stiffened, and, next to the window behind the table, Gavroche turned bright red from the tips of his ears down to his thin mouth line. Then, in a moment of aftermath, Jehan took a deep breath and said in an undertone, "How did you find out about any of this?"

"My brother told me," Eponine repeated. "'Vroche?"

"I used to sit in on the meetings all the time, Jehan," the boy said, almost spiteful. "You never _told _me I had to keep mum!"

"Never mind that," Jehan said swiftly, dismissing the conversation. He sighed deeply, and for a moment Eponine felt her face go entirely red at ratting her brother out and embarrassing herself in front of Prouvaire.

"Do you know who General Lamarque is?"

"_Non_," answered Eponine, shaking her head.

"He is a man of power and action," said Jehan. "He is the only man who is in a position to fight for these people here below." He motioned with his elbow out the window, where a destitute woman carrying a small baby was just now passing. Eponine felt a shudder go down her spine. Jehan need not have taken the trouble to motion outside of the café.

"He is a great influence in the fight for freedom," said Jehan. "I admire the man very much, as does anyone who wishes to someday see equality amongst the people. Unfortunately, Lamarque is also dying."

Eponine let out a little gasp. She had become instantly intrigued with the idea that there was someone in a higher position who actually cared about what happened in the back alleys and slums of Paris. The thought of that kind of care vanishing vanquished that little flame of hope.

"_Dying_?" she repeated.

"Yes, sadly," responded Jehan. He cleared his throat. "But with no one else out there to try and change things, it's high time that the people take charge and rise up." His voice rose just as he suggested that the aforementioned people of Paris should do.

"A revolution!" Eponine chirped. This was terribly exciting.

"Exactly," said Jehan, but there was something grave in the way he was smiling. He was not looking at Eponine, but past her.

"What is it?" the girl asked, looking around behind her to see if Bahorel or Enjolras had returned.

"Eponine," Jehan went on slowly. "Revolutions are bloody things. People get killed. Promise me you won't get involved in this, in any way at all." He clasped one of her hands to his own. She felt another shudder as she saw the deep sorrow in his green eyes.

"I promise…" she said softly. Suddenly, a horrid thought occurred to her. "Jehan," she started. "Please tell me, is Marius-"

At the very moment she was saying this, the door burst back open, and in walked Bahorel and Enjolras, the former looking boisterous, and the latter looking as though he had just awoken.

"I'm guessing Bahorel was right," Jehan joked, looking up at the two and letting go of Eponine's hand.

"About what?" Enjolras inquired sleepily.

"He has been in there since nine o' clock last night," said Bahorel. "Just now woke up, his head literally stuck inside a book."

"_Bon matin_, Eponine," Enjolras said, noticing the girl's presence. She nodded back at him, but her mind was heavily distracted.

_Revolutions are bloody things_, Jehan kept telling her over and over in her mind. _People get killed_. She gulped loudly. _Suppose Marius fights…_

The third shudder of the morning went down her spine, even as Bahorel handed her a mug of coffee and began to tease her about living with Marius. Nothing takes the taste out of coffee like foreboding, she noted.


	16. The Evil Poor

**In which I once again throw Eponine into senseless drama just for the fun of it...**

**I don't own _Les Miserables_. **

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: The Evil Poor**

* * *

"Just think of it, 'Ponine! Fighting! In Paris!" Gavroche was ecstatic. He had heard story after story of his father's time in the army, at Waterloo, and while he had neither known nor admired his father in any way whatsoever, he delighted in the idea of following in at least one of the man's footsteps. Currently, the boy was skipping several strides ahead of his sister as they walked down the Rue Hautefeuille later that same day. The sky was growing ever more grey with rain clouds, so the two were trying to hurry to make it back to the flat before the storm started up. They had started off at a playful run, but had soon lost their breath and taken to walking.

Eponine was not half as gay-hearted as her brother was about the revolution that now seemed impending. If Marius's friends were the ones organizing it, then he was certain to be present when the battle started up. She imagined him standing before gunfire, armed with his own musket, but still in a position of peril, and the thought made her want to cry out. She did not want to imagine _any_ of those schoolboys dying; the charming Courfeyrac; the boisterous Bahorel; Joly, who had tried to save her sister; the valiant and immeasurably handsome Enjolras. She most of all, next to Marius, did not want to see the poet Jehan fall. He had become very dear to her, as he was always to nice to her and her brother.

All of the thoughts and talk of death were putting Eponine in a terribly morbid state of mind. Every time she and Gavroche passed the entrance to a shadowy alleyway, she had to hold back the urge to grab her brother by the collar and prepare to attack any criminal who might emerge. Any one who saw the dark look in her already dark eyes would know immediately that there was something drastically wrong in this girl's head.

"I bet they won't let me have a gun, though," Gavroche was saying now. Eponine narrowed her eyes.

"You won't be fighting at _all_, Gavroche," she said firmly. "Not as long as I can help it. _Eleven-year-olds _have no place on a battlefield." She accentuated his age when she spoke that last part.

Gavroche laughed heartily. "Sis', you laugh at me because I'm small, but when it comes down to it, who would want to shoot a kid? I could actually be useful there. Those big guys are too hefty to fit into small cracks. Not like _I _can, at least. A good army always needs a little guy to go places that they can't."

Eponine was too exhausted to press him for the specifics on his theory. She just sighed and said wearily, "You are _not_ going, Gavroche. Get it out of your head and be reasonable."

The boy stuck out his tongue and wriggled his collar free of Eponine's grasp. "Who died and made _you _Maman?" This unskilled statement caused a heavy silence as the two suddenly remembered one of the reasons they were out here in the first place. They _had _no mother. Immediately, Gavroche wished he hadn't said it. He gulped and tried to think of something to say.

Not a word could be said, however, before, all at once, a particularly loud crash of thunder seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet. At the exact same time as this, something grabbed Eponine around the waist, and she shrieked.

"_Dieu_, it's just thunder," Gavroche was in the middle of saying when he turned around and came face to face with what was almost indistinguishable between a man and a ghastly, fanciful beast. He had red-tinted eyes, a horrible scent of whiskey, and skin withered and roughened by the harsh outdoors. In addition, he had a good hold on the boy's sister.

"Well, what have we here?" the man slurred , pulling on Eponine's waist in what appeared to be a quite painful manner. She struggled and tried to get a hold on his arms to attempt to pull him off, but the attempt was no good. He pulled on her once more, and she tripped and collapsed into his gigantic chest, another shriek echoing from her lips as the man nearly threw her down into the dark alleyway. It was terribly clear what he was after.

"Eponine!" cried Gavroche, launching himself at the attacker. He only received a swift punch in the stomach, and was prostrated on the dirty pavement by the force of the man's drunken action.

"Get off!" Eponine shouted into the man's face, her voice hoarse and raspy in the midst of struggle. Pressed up against the brick wall, she was immobilized with the exception of her legs. She kicked them wildly as she began to feel the sleeves of her dress being grabbed at. Her shoulders were being terribly bruised, she knew. When one of her kicks connected with the man's crotch, Eponine dropped to the ground, her hip landing at a painstaking angle. Her dress was ripped at the seam on one shoulder, and her eyes were streaming with warm tears.

"Don't you touch her!" Eponine heard her brother's voice ring out as he took another chance and kicked the attacker in the shin, but to little avail. He was pushed aside quickly as the man pulled at Eponine's arm once more, dragging her to her feet. She was crying too hard now to see or process anything that was happening, and all she knew was the terrible bruising of her arms and shoulders and the feeling of her dress being ripped open at the weak seams. She felt rain on her now bare shoulders, and realized that the storm was bearing down on them at full force.

"Leave her alone!" Gavroche was crying over and over again, strain in his weak voice. Each shout was followed by a swift _oof_ and a painful crash as the boy fell backwards. At last came a grunt that was followed instead by a crash and a yelp, and then there was silence.

"'Vroche…" Eponine crocked weakly before a sense of vertigo overcame her, and all went black and still. When everything was done, she passed out cold beside her brother, with no other sound but the downpour around them.

* * *

We will now note that while all of this was happening, Marius was being held late at his job to aid in repairing a leaky ceiling tile. He knew nothing until hours later when he arrived back at the flat.

* * *

Jehan and Combeferre were only just leaving the Musain when a resounding knocking on the front door came to their attention. Being closest to the glass paned door, Combeferre reached out and opened it as though it were his own. Immediately a damp breeze blew in through the opening, mottling their coats with droplets of water. Standing before them now was a tiny _gamin_ boy with curly black hair now plastered to his thin face. 

"Is a Monsieur Prouvaire here?" he asked in his small voice.

"That's me," Jehan answered interestedly.

"Gavroche told me to tell you to go to his apartment," the boy went on. "Do you know Gavroche?"

"Yes, we know him," Combeferre cut in. "Did he say why?"

"His sister is hurt, he mentioned." Jehan felt a stab at his gut. Eponine hurt?

"Let's go," he said to Combeferre. He picked up his things and tossed a sou to the _gamin_ boy before heading off into the rain, the older and taller boy at his heels, in the direction of Enjolras's old flat.

* * *

Marius got off of work a little before seven o' clock; two hours late. The storm had let up a bit by the time he arrived home, but his shoes were soaked through and through, and he nearly had to _dump_ the water out before going in his front door. Once inside, he hung up his dripping coat and hat and turned to look for signs of the Thenardiers. What he did not except to see, however, was Combeferre seemingly dozing in the armchair nearest the window. 

"Combeferre?" he asked, making a move to wake the older student. Combeferre sat up upon hearing his name. Once he realized where he was, he ran one hand through his floppy blonde curls and looked Marius in the eye through his spectacles.

"At last, you're home," he said, sounding one part calmed and one part hesitant.

"What are you doing here?" Marius asked cordially, still greatly confused.

Combeferre's expression hardened suddenly, and his eyes shifted to the bedroom door, which was closed and silent. Marius followed his gaze, but found himself none the wiser. What was going on? When Marius voiced this question, his friend took a large breath and said quietly, "Something happened to Eponine and Gavroche on the way home from the Musain this afternoon."

"What _kind _of something?" Marius was beginning to be frightened; his pulse was racing.

"There was a man, said Gavroche, in the alleyway on the Rue Hautefeuille, just as they were passing it, and he jumped out at them, and…"

"And _what?_"

Combeferre looked Marius dead in the eye, and there was a darkness in his gaze. "The filthy drunkard raped Eponine."

Marius's blood turned to ice, and his eyes went all out of focus. "What?" he asked weakly, but he and Combeferre both knew that it was not a question but a shocked explanation. He did not want to hear Combeferre say it again, in fact. He would sooner die than know that it was true, Marius thought.

Before he knew it, Marius was making his way to the bedroom door, as fast as his sore, wet feet would carry him. Upon entering, he saw, by the single candle lit beside the bed (with the horrible weather, the sun brought hardly a ray of light), Jehan seated in a wooden chair at the side of the double bed next to the window. Lying atop the bed, tucked underneath a blanket, were Eponine and Gavroche, both either sound asleep or attempting to be. Gavroche was lying with his arms around his sister's shoulders and his head buried in the crook of her neck, and they both wore troubled expressions. Even with the blanket pulled up, Marius could make out that Eponine's dress was in ruins, and she had some nasty bruises on her shoulders. Her hair was a matted mess against the pillow (oh, how similar she looked to her sister…), and her skin was deathly white. Gavroche did not look much better. He had one black eye, and his arm was bandaged, covering up some ghastly wound, Marius imagined. The unbeatable _gamin_… It made Marius want to cry to see the two of them lying there, so still and silent for the first time in their lives.

Jehan looked up suddenly at Marius and made a move to rise from his chair.

"No, stay," said Marius. "I… I just wanted to see her… them." He cleared his throat and stood at the foot of the bed for several moments, just looking at the pair on the bed.

Paris was a harsh place, but _Pantin _was even crueler. There, poor went beyond poor, and the product of the desperate and the evil poor was lying right there before Marius's eyes. Suddenly he knew just what he had been afraid of that evening he had left Eponine and her sister alone with Patron-Minette. He had been afraid she would end up like this. Granted, she had worked as a streetwalker many a time, but even the lowest of whores (and Eponine was only a whore by former profession) did not deserve to be taken by an unknown drunk in a dark alley. The marks on Gavroche's small body were signs enough that the pair had put up quite a fight. It pained Marius to know that there were people in the world who were so intent on doing bad that they would fight a couple of children, one eleven and the other seventeen. Having grown up in parlors and large houses, Marius had never been subject to the violence of the streets. The harshness of reality had not seemed real until these past months, Marius mused. Now, he was right in the middle of it.

* * *

**Haven't started next chapter yet, so it could be a few days. Don't worry, it's coming along. But just two more chapters until the barricades, and things are going to start slowing down big time there, so I can make sure I get the whole thing perfect. I've read a lot of crappy barricade scenes, and I don't want mine to rank up there with them. **

**Love, Giz. **


	17. Letters Revisited

**I do not own _Les Miserables. _**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Letters Revisited**

* * *

Marius did not take his mind off of Eponine for the entirety of the next week. Every second of the day his thoughts and, more often than not, his eyes were on her, and most nights he did not sleep at all, overcome by a sense of fearful protection that had recently settled inside of him. He took temporary leave from work, though at the moment he had explained the situation to M. Travert, the owner of the printing shop, he could not seem to imagine ever wanting to leave Eponine's side for his now-trivial translations. He was afraid, and from the look Eponine got every time she stepped outside of the apartment to accompany Marius to the bakery, he could tell she was afraid as well. 

It was not an open fear. She had not once spoken of the incident to Marius, and while Gavroche had apparently recalled the incident to Combeferre, he had yet to mention a single detail. There were no obvious nightmares, save for the first night, when Marius woke up to the sound of Gavroche crying softly, and could not determine whether or not the child was asleep.

Now, days later, the bruises were fading, and the gash on Gavroche's arm, periodically checked by Combeferre, was healing nicely. There was still a haunted darkness in the siblings' eyes, but they were talking and occasionally laughing once more. Marius's heart had swelled and burst the first time Eponine smiled at a joke made by Courfeyrac during one of his visits. The Amis had been quite active in the mutual protection of the Thenardiers. When Marius had gone to the shop to announce his leave, Jehan had stationed himself as a watchman, and the former had returned an hour later to find them laughing over something or another. Slowly, a recovery was being made by the interim family. One day, Marius even managed to take Eponine and Gavroche to the Luxembourg without event. This became a habit.

On their third trip to the Luxembourg, Marius was watching Eponine and Gavroche manage a crude game of _"La Marelle Ronde" _on some rounded stones a few feet away, when a familiar voice called him name from some distance behind him. Turning around, the young man saw Courfeyrac walking hastily towards him, a letter of sorts in his hand.

"This showed up at my flat earlier today," he said to Marius, handing him the parcel.

"_Bonjour_, Courfeyrac!" called Eponine and Gavroche, summoning over the wiry, mousy-haired boy, and leaving Marius to examine the letter. It was from England. Cosette again. He opened it slowly and took a seat on a bench behind him, once again inhaling the pleasant scent of ladies' perfume that seemed to attach itself to every item once owned by the lady in question.

_Dearest Marius_, it read.

_Life in England is slowly becoming more bearable, knowing that I can still write to you! The ocean between us somehow seems smaller to me. I thank God every day that my father is allowing me this pleasure!_

_I have made little progress in learning to speak English, but I have made friends with a girl named Flora who knows a bit of French. We have made an agreement to tutor each other in our language studies. Here is a sentence in English: _"The weather is lovely. There is bright sun, and not rain." _That means: "The weather is lovely. The sun is bright, and there is no rain." To say that in all seriousness would be a lie, however. We have had nothing but terrible storms since I arrived, and every morning I awake to such engulfing fog that the city is nearly invisible!_

_I can not wait for the day I can return to France to see you once more! You are always in my dreams and prayers! Until then, your beloved, Cosette. _

Marius put down the letter and, after a brief moment of unclassified thought, placed it back in the envelope and walked back over to where his friends had inducted Courfeyrac into their game. He could not help but grin at the sight of the lanky Nicolas Courfeyrac hopping along on one foot like a child. At the same time, it brought tears to the edges of Marius's eyes to see the childish nature appearing once more in Eponine's eyes.

"I need to return to the flat," Marius announced to the three. "Courfeyrac, if you could stay with them here -"

"I will come with you, Marius," offered Eponine, a light in her eyes for the first time in a week.

"Gavroche?"

The boy looked at Courfeyrac and asked, "Will _you _stay?" When Courfeyrac agreed, Marius and Eponine said their brief goodbyes and headed off in the direction of the flat, Eponine routinely clasping onto the older boy's arm.

"What did Cosette say?" she asked as soon as they started. Her question caught Marius off guard, for he had not spoken a word about the parcel, nor who it was from.

"She is faring well in England," Marius relayed. "She is making friends; learning the language."

"So she's staying over there for good?" Eponine asked, a bit hopefully.

"Yes, I believe so." Marius got a butterfly feeling in his gut when he saw the look in Eponine's chocolate brown eyes as she asked this. There was a silent, sad pleading behind the glazed look she had sported for days upon end; a melancholy spark of gently shown emotion. Marius gulped and put his vision back on the path in front of them.

* * *

_Cosette…_

Marius had the beginning set this time around. As he dipped his pen back into the ink, he could hear Eponine breathing behind him, her chin perched on his shoulder as she kneeled to watch what he wrote. Marius had already assured her that it did not matter what was passed now between the three of them; his feelings for Cosette were becoming platonic, he said. The vague language used in his letters were sign enough of that, whether or not he had actually admitted it to himself yet.

_I am so glad to hear that you are happier now than you were when you wrote your last letter _(Eponine wanted to see the initial letter sent by Cosette, but Marius was hardly shaken to realize that he had lost it sometime in his first night on the streets, some month or two ago). _It is good to know that England is not _completely _vile. I miss you a lot here, but I am getting along well enough. I am now living on my own: I will enclose my new flat's address in this letter. I am attending classes as usual; nothing out of the ordinary to discuss _(Eponine: "I certainly hope you do not lie to _me_ that way.") _I am very proud of your advancements in learning English. It took me quite a while to master it as well, when I had to learn it for my work. Do not ail too much - the weather has been awful here as well. _(Eponine: "Send her my greetings before you are done!"). _Eponine sends you her greetings. She is standing above me as I write this, so forgive me please for any spelling errors. She also wished me to inform you that her brother thinks your name sounds strange _(Marius did not remember having told Gavroche of Cosette; Eponine looked sheepish when asked for an answer to this, and mumbled something about perhaps talking of Monsieur Marius a bit much when she was at home alone with her brother).

_I look forward to your next letter greatly, _Marius wrote finitely. _Your friend, Marius. _

"Oh!" Eponine said with a smile on her face. "You signed it 'friend'! I take it that you decided against waiting on her, just like I said?" This was a brutal question for Marius to answer in a few words, so he simply nodded his head and laid his pen down away from the paper so that it would not drip.

"Do you feel like you _are _getting along, living with me and Gavroche, I mean?" Eponine asked, tilting her head and looking Marius in the eye. Her voice sounded curious and somewhat grave, and Marius noted that it was once again forming into proper speech patterns. She had not used a single word of argot all week.

"Yes," Marius answered quickly. "I do. _That _was not a lie."

"Even with so little food and money? I have grown used to it, and my brother has lived nearly his entire life on a flat _nothing_, but you…"

"Eponine," interrupted Marius, stopping the girl in the middle of the thought. "It is enough knowing the two of you are safe, no matter how hungry I get."

The girl did not say anything to this for several moments; she just sat back onto the arm of the chair behind her and breathed deeply and thoughtfully. At last, she turned to her friend and started, "About that other night, when Azelma was sick-"

And then the door to the flat opened up, and in walked Gavroche and Courfeyrac, laughing and red in the face from the June heat. The expression on Eponine's face was still one of apprehension and hesitation when the sudden noise cut her off. Marius did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that the statement had not been finished. What had she been planning so saying? he wondered with trepidation.

As Gavroche rushed over to talk to his sister of something or another, Marius, suddenly downtrodden and bewildered, turned around to the desk and, picking up his pen, proceeded to formally write the date at the top of the paper.

He wrote this: June 4, 1832.

* * *

**"_La Marrele Ronde"_ is a French variation of hopscotch, played in a round circular thingie. We had a painted one on the playground at my elementary school, though I never learned how to play. We mainly just saw how dizzy we could get by running around in the circles at top speed and bumping into each other. **

**Yep, and I bet you can guess the name of the respected general who is about to die and submerge this entire story into a deep depression. Man, I hate it when Lamarque dies, but I'm afraid it is quite necessary. **

**Oh, and here is that point I've been talking about where things start to slow down, in the next couple of chapters leading up to the barricades, and then the ones that actually take place there. So it will probably be several days until I update again, perhaps even a week. **

**Love, Giz. **


	18. Moral Obligations Surrounding a Funeral

**Okay, I revised the ending of this chapter since I was having trouble making it sound right and fitting in with chapter ninteteen. So here's the revised version. **

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Moral Obligations Surrounding a Funeral****

* * *

**The next morning came far too soon for Marius's liking. He had been kept awake by the stifling heat on his side of the bedroom, as he had been many times before, and at the very second he fell into a deep slumber, or so it seemed, he was being jostled out of sleep by the sound of an urgent knock at the apartment door. 

Marius stumbled out of bed and looked at the face of his watch by what little light was coming in from outside. It was six o' clock. Barefoot and dressed in yesterday's clothes, he made his way into the sitting room and got his hand on the doorknob just as the knock sounded again. He vaguely heard one of the Thenardiers stirring in the next room.

"I am _terribly_ sorry to wake you up at this hour, but have you heard the news?" This was all said before Marius even had time to recognize the figure of Bossuet standing in the hall before him, something shaped like a baton held in one hand.

"_Non_, I can not say I have," Marius answered sleepily. "Has something happened?" The object in Bossuet's hand was now identifiable as a rolled newspaper.

"_Oui, mon ami_!" Bossuet exclaimed excitedly, though there was a slight tremor to his voice that Marius was not too tired to miss. "Lamarque is dead! His funeral is later this morning, and you _must _come with us!"

"Us?" Marius blundered. "You are all…" Suddenly, the truth of the situation dawned on his. "That means… The fighting! This was what Enjolras was waiting for…"

"We are to build the barricades and prepare for battle immediately," Bossuet said with an excited grin. "This is the sign we have been anticipating! Do you realize how close at hand freedom is?"

Marius took this as a rhetorical question, and while it was being said he looked backwards into the flat and saw a small, dark figure duck quickly behind the doorway to the bedroom. A dutiful sadness filled his heart.

"I can not come," he said softly, and Bossuet's expression turned from jubilance to shock.

"You can not come?" he confirmed. "How so?"

"I have a duty here, Damien. I must not leave them alone."

"I see…" Bossuet looked downtrodden and distant. "I do not know how I will tell Enjolras, however. You know he does not understand family, or love for that matter."

Marius waved off the word "love" as though it had not been said. "Is he _that_ intent that I be there?"

"Marius," Bossuet answered. "Julien has had this day in his heart and mind for as long as I have known him. Now that may have only been a couple of years, but it is as though his entire essence is set on freedom. He is depending on the idea that all whom he has asked will be willing to help him."

This statement struck Marius off guard, and a cloud of doubt made its way into his horizon.

"We might die?" he asked childishly.

"We might die," Bossuet repeated. "But it will be in the name of freedom, _mon ami_."

Marius knew what the fighting was about: freedom, oppression, the bunch of people Eponine and her family were part of, or _had been_ part of. But was it fair for him to head off fighting for him and wind up dead? Who would take care of Eponine and Gavroche with Marius gone? The thought chilled his spine. He was on the brink of saying "no" to the request, but another part of his mind made itself known: could he betray his friends? It was true that he had been attending meetings for some two or three years, but he had never exactly considered himself a member of the insurgents in a matter of speaking. Yes, they were his friends, but was he really there to fight for their cause? And yet…

It was a terrible thought to imagine his friends, his best friends save for Eponine, dead on a battlefield Marius had not even tried to defend. He knew they would die, didn't he? Bossuet had just confirmed that fear. Martyrdom had always seemed like such a well-to-do way of dying, but was it really all it cracked up to be when the martyr was leaving behind people who needed him?

Every step towards a decision seemed to lead back to Eponine and her brother, and what would happen if Marius were to leave him. He had always thought it wise to go with one's first instinct, but in this case too many things were at risk. His morals would not allow him to forget such friends as Enjolras and Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and Bossuet right here in front of him. It was very possible that if Marius turned down the offer to fight, he would never see any of them again, save for in the guilty dreams he was sure he would suffer from were he to deny them.

The answer would not come.

"If I show up there later," Marius said quietly, "then I am going to help. If I don't, then know that my prayers are with all of you."

Bossuet accepted this answer, said his goodbyes, and was off down the hallway.

In his still-dreary state, Marius did not even notice the small figure pressed into the corner, waiting for his chance to sneak out of the door.

Marius sat down on the edge of Eponine's bed some hours later, after having gone back into a restless sleep. It was almost eleven, and the sun was rising, lighting up the small room and sending rays of sunlight across the bed. Eponine had the blanket pulled up to her waist, but the part covering her legs had been kicked and tossed throughout the night, so it seemed, as it was bunched up in places and hung off of the end of the bed substantially. Marius reached out and touched her hair softly. His choice to drop out of the insurrection was plain as day in front of him as he watched the small girl sleep, her face turned away from him. She needed him. Yes, she would one day be back on her feet, doubtlessly, but Marius felt obligated to stay until that day came. What kind of caretaker would run off to his death, with two needy children in his wake?

Nay, one needy child and a young woman.

Eponine looked years older than she had only months before, when Marius had received the first letter from Cosette. Marius's earned money had certainly made her look healthier, even in the past week living in the flat with him. Being fed twice a day had worked wonders on her gaunt face and skeletal shoulders, and while she was still as narrow as a child and as freckled as a leopard, she was coming off as more and more of a lady as the days went by.

Marius felt butterflies in his gut again when he recalled her attempt at conversation the night before, regarding that night two weeks ago when Azelma was on her deathbed. It was not that he had hoped it would not come up, but more that he did not know what he would say. He had known all along that he would eventually have to speak to Eponine about it, but he had been hoping it would be later rather than sooner, giving him time to gather up his feelings. Since the rape the week before, Marius had been pretty sure how he felt about the girl (his letter to Cosette was proof enough that his mind was on someone else), but now, staring down at her sleeping form, he could not find a way to put it into words, were she to ask him at this very moment….

"_Bon matin_, Marius. What are you doing on my bed?"

The voice startled Marius, and he jumped several inches, to only exaggerate slightly. When he turned back, Eponine was lying on her back, looking up with heavy lidded eyes, a smile on her face. At first it seemed absurd to see the pleasure written all over her face, but then Marius remembered that she did not know of such events as Lamarque's death and the fighting sure to follow in the next twelve hours. He looked down at her and tried to smile.

"_Bon matin_," he repeated. "How did you sleep?"

"Well," Eponine answered. She yawned widely. "I dreamed that I was married to a baker… Do you bake well?"

Marius did not try to read into the question, fearing that he would stumble obviously in front of her. "_Non_, I am no good at cooking of any sort, you know that." _Why do I have to be so awkward? _Marius wondered desperately. He hated the way he always sounded half his age when he spoke under any sort of negative pressure.

"You don't give yourself enough credit where credit is due, I'm sure," Eponine answered, trailing off with a distant look in her brown eyes. There was a long period of silence in which they both stared out of the window absently. Eponine yawned again and rolled over to look out of the window. Then, she gasped.

"Where is my brother?" she asked suddenly, her voice high pitched and slightly panicked. She sat up straight and prepared to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, but Marius stood up and hurried into the other room before she could get to it. There was no sign of the boy.

"Gavroche?" Eponine called out, frightened at the notion that he had gone missing, just like so many times before. A cold feeling entered her chest. She felt foolish for thinking that living with Marius, having a real home, would keep him off of the streets…

Suddenly, the front door to the flat burst open, and in ran the child, barefoot and sweating from the sweltering heat.

"Gavroche," Eponine started, rising from the bed and heading into the other room, but her brother cut her off.

"They're getting ready to fight!" he squealed excitedly. "They're getting ready to fight!"

"Gavroche, calm down," Eponine said just as Marius encouraged him: "What happened?"

"There was a lotta commotion down near Austerlitz," the boy went on, panting, "at the funeral procession. Someone fired a shot, and all hell broke loose! And I think they're gonna to start building the barricades soon!"

"Wait - who fired?" Marius was frantically puzzled, yet also frustrated. Gavroche's excitement was getting the best of him. In fact, the boy was almost buzzing like a bee.

"What is going on?" Eponine demanded, wide-eyed.

"I don't know _who _fired," Gavroche breathed, "but a scuffle broke out, and before we knew it _everyon_e, the Guard and the rebels and all of Enjolras and the fellows, were off to start tearing up the pavement! Now, I gotta get down there 'fore I miss anything." But before he could get so far as the sofa, his sister had pulled herself swiftly form the bed and caught him by the collar.

"I _told _you, 'Vroche," Eponine protested. "You aren't going anywhere near that death trap they're building! You're staying right here, with us." Then, she looked up at Marius, as if asking for his input.

"Listen to your sister," Marius said distantly, grabbing his coat and hat as he did so. "Eponine - keep him out of trouble. I have to go talk to someone about something."

"You're going to go join them, aren't you," Eponine accused, her arm clutched tightly around Gavroche's shoulders.

"No, I just have to talk to them," Marius half-lied. _Possibly for the last time_, he thought. Though he didn't say the last part, it was as though Eponine was thinking the same thing at the same time, for her look suddenly became understanding and soft.

"Fine," she said quietly. "But hurry back." He leaned forward and routinely kissed her on the cheek (Gavroche was too frustrated to poke fun), and then he was out the door and down the hall in under a minute, waling briskly in the way of the Café Musain, a strong sense of foreboding pounding in his head. He just prayed that someone would be at the café when he arrived.

* * *

**Review please.**


	19. Taking Action

**I do not own _Les Mis_. If I did, I would be rich enough to afford something other than a minivan to drive. **

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**Chapter Nineteen: Taking Action**

* * *

Marius did not have to go far. On the Boulevard Saint-Germain he intercepted Courfeyrac and Bahorel, who were headed in the direction of the Seine and Notre Dame. Bahorel was carrying a musket. 

"Ho there," Courfeyrac called cheerily. "If it isn't Pontmercy! Bossuet said your weren't coming."

"Don't make assumptions," said Marius, shaking his head. "Where exactly are you going?"

"Rue Saint-Denis," answered Bahorel. "Enjolras sent us out here to round up everybody we can.

"No hard feelings, _mon ami_," Courfeyrac said in a brotherly voice. "If I had a family, I would want to stay in today as well."

Marius shook his head again. "When do you think all of the fighting is going to start?"

"As soon as the Guard gets their act together and makes the first move," Courfeyrac replied.

"More like until they get sick of all us rebels tearing up their streets," added Bahorel, and the two laughed a little.

Marius felt the same tugging at his heart that he had felt earlier this morning when talking to Bossuet. _We may die_, his friend's voice shouted at him, but then his own voice responded, _They might die!_ It was very possible that Marius would never see his friends again after this moment. Nay, it was more than possible. It was _likely_.

"How many guns do you have to spare?" Marius asked abruptly.

Courfeyrac grinned. "Enough for you. Are you in?"

"I'm…" Marius took a deep breath. Why was it so hard to say two little words? _Because it would make all the difference in a few hours_. "I'm in."

"Great!" Courfeyrac patted his best friend on the back. "Now let's hurry along. I don't want to miss _anything_." This was just what Gavroche had said earlier. The two bore shocking similarity.

"No," said Marius. "I have to tell Eponine first. Rue Saint-Denis, did you say?"

"_Oui_, that's the place," Bahorel answered. "Oh, and say hello to your lady friend for us all!"

* * *

"Eponine?" Marius entered the flat to find the girl in the armchair, sipping coffee serenely. Gavroche was lying on his back on the floor, looking up at the ceiling as though he were about to smash through it with a hammer. 

"Gavroche, would you go in the other room, please?" Marius said. The boy obeyed reluctantly. This morning's conversation had shown him a sterner side of his older friend, and now was just a further demonstration.

"You're going with them," Eponine stated, attempting to sound calm; her voice was trembling.

"Yes, but let me explain." Marius expected Eponine to protest, but instead she just sat and stared at the cup in her hands. Her eyes were surprisingly dry.

"I have known these boys for years, 'Ponine," he went on. "They are like my brothers. I have talked of revolution right alongside them, and they have been counting on me to be there with them when the time comes. I can not leave them now. Yes, Bossuet told me this morning that it is very likely we will get killed. I will not lie about that, but-"

Eponine looked up at him with flashing eyes. "You will die, you say, and yet you plan to leave me all alone to do so?"

"Eponine, you are in good hands. I will find someone to take care of you if the worst should happen-"

"How could you if you're _dead_? That is no good to me, or to my brother.."

"I do not _want_ to leave you, 'Ponine, but I do not want to be here on my butt while my friends are hurt somewhere, or dead…"

Eponine's eyes were not so dry anymore. Tears were rolling down in pairs as she took in Marius's words. "How can you want to be here, and want to be there, all at once?" she asked softly.

"It is a choice that I do not want to make," Marius answered. "But I must go with them. _Please _understand."

"I will go with you, then!" Eponine said in a begging voice. "I will _go_ with you and _fight _with you! You said you can't just sit here knowing your friends are dead? _I _can't sit here knowing _you _are dead!"

Marius interrupted after her first few words, however. "No," he said bluntly. "I can't let you come. You will get hurt, Eponine." He reached out and put one hand on her arm. At this gesture, the girl suddenly burst into tears. She yanked away her arm and used one hand to cover up her eyes. Marius looked up sadly, but with a blank face.

"I must go," he said softly. "Goodbye, Eponine." The girl only cried in response. "Goodbye, Gavroche," he called to the closed bedroom door. There was no response.

On his way out of the building, Marius stopped at the door of the landlady's and said to her, "Eponine and Gavroche (for the landlady was quite acquainted with the family) are not to leave the building under any circumstances. There is fighting in the streets today, and I would die if they were to get hurt." The last part was more for himself than Mme. Dugouy, an assurance of why in the world he was walking off and leaving the two of them alone in the flat. _I'm doing this for them. I'm doing this so they won't get hurt_. He was to learn later, though, that neither lucidity or promises are always genuine.

* * *

The closer Marius got to Saint-Denis, the more people he passed in the streets, and the louder the noises of rowdy voices and the clattering of wood upon wood and stone upon stone became. He smelled dust even from a distance, and when he came around a corner to find an entire section of street torn up and the pieces of stone in the arms of men scrambling back and forth along the pavement, he was not at all surprised. Several of the men around him were either carrying guns or had set their weapons on the ground, against the houses lining the street. 

"I can't feel my toe, Damien, I'm telling you, it's gangrene!"

There was no mistaking the presence of Joly somewhere in this madness. Before Marius could find him, however, he lost the need to in the form of Bossuet shouting, "Pontmercy! You showed up after all!" Turning around, he saw Bossuet and a very distressed Joly coming through the thick dust in his direction. Toting weapons seemed to be a fad, as Bossuet had a musket in his hand, and even mild-mannered Joly was carrying a pistol at his belt.

"Mm-hmm," Marius answered with a nod. He looked around and motioned to the business with the paving stones. "I see everything is underway with building the barricade?"

"We're getting the job done," Bossuet agreed.

"I dropped a tabletop on my foot," Joly threw in, gesturing to what Marius supposed was the numb toe previously mentioned.

"The others will be wanting to know you're here," Bossuet said suddenly, and he led Marius and Joly off down the dusty street until they came to a building Marius recognized as the Corinth wineshop. It was then that the structure beside it came into view. A massive pile of furniture, stones, and numerous other things was already forming a road block, right at the edge of the building, crossing clear across the intersection. And still, it was growing.

"Marius!" Courfeyrac emerged from the cluttered ground story of Corinth and threw one arm around Marius's shoulder. "How's the mademoiselle? Taking it harshly?"

"You could say that," Marius answered to his friend, thinking distinctly and painfully about the tears and the threats on Eponine's part. A lump rose up in his throat, and he suddenly had the strong urge to take back his actions. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when Bossuet shouted:

"Ah ha, and the roof of falling tiles becomes the roof of falling wood!" He had one hand on his head, and in the other hand he was holding a broken table leg that had apparently fallen from the window above.

As Joly rushed over to make sure it wasn't bleeding, Marius turned back to Courfeyrac and said, "I can only hope I live through this to see her again." Then, he wandered off, perhaps to find the whereabouts of his other friends. Courfeyrac stood dumbstruck for a second. He was not fond of sentiment, especially when expected to respond with sympathy. The reason: who did he have who would miss him as his friends' mistresses and loves would miss them? Perhaps Enjolras had been right, Courfeyrac mused as he got back to work:

* * *

"There has _got _to be _some_thing in this apartment!" Eponine huffed as she closed the wardrobe door in Marius's bedroom. All she had found so far was a large winter coat and a pair of scuffed shoes that could have housed three of her feet per shoe. She sat down on the bed and stared angrily at the floor. 

"That smooth-faced, self-righteous _dolt_," Gavroche said to no one in particular.

Another idea came to Eponine at that moment, having nothing to do with her brother's remark. "Money!" she exclaimed, leaping up to the side table on which Marius's wallet usually perched. The table was stark bare, and another idea was crushed.

"I have some francs I found the other day outside," Gavroche offered, surprising Eponine; she had not known he was listening. Her brother climbed off of the bed and went over to where his shoes were laid out by the doorway. Sure enough, he pulled out several shining coins. Eponine had never been more delighted at the sight of money, besides, perhaps, in her former times of hunger. A giddy smile came to her face.

"Well, then what are we waiting for?" Eponine ran one hand through her brown hair, straightened out her skirts, and, followed by her brother, nearly flew out of the flat and down the stairs to the ground floor, where a shadow of a woman was standing in front of the door. It was Mme. Dugouy.

"Excuse us, m'am," Eponine chirped, but the plump, white-haired woman held out a hand to stop them.

"Strict orders," she said in an ironically sweet tone. "Monsieur Pontmercy told me not to let you out the building. There's danger out tonight, he said." Seeing that she had made an effective point, the woman began to shuffle back into her own flat. "Mighty sweet husband, I would say, thinking of you so. You're a lucky one." She laughed and added, in a more feminine tone, "I married a complete dolt, back in the day."

Eponine turned bright red, either from embarrassment or anger, but before anything else was said, she turned on her heel and headed back up the stairs, Gavroche in tow.

"Husband?" Gavroche tittered, but Eponine hardly heard him. One thing was on her mind: she had to get to Marius before the battle began.

* * *

**Barricades officially start next chapter! I'm getting straight to work on them right now, in fact, since I have all day off from everything today. Please review! Love, Giz. **


	20. Chaos

**Ooh, two chapters in one day. What a spectacle. Don't expect this too often, I'm a very busy girl. A very busy girl who doesn't own _Les Miserables_. **

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* * *

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**Chapter Twenty: Chaos**

* * *

Evening found the Amis crouched upon the finished barricades, waiting, with their weapons held close and their hair soaked from the falling rain.

Not one shot had been fired, and Marius was beginning to see every tranquil second as a chance to drop his weapon and take off running back to the Thenardiers. Still, his mind would not let him forget the faces and emotions of his friends when they saw him show up at last…

"Marius?" He looked to his left and saw Jehan stooped there, an innocent look (ironic with the gun held in his hands at the same time) in his green eyes.

"Hey?" said Marius.

"Is… is Eponine safe? Really?" He sounded beyond concerned for the girl, and Marius felt a pang in his gut. He had watched the way Jehan had looked at Eponine in the past months they had been friends, and knew the extent (Jehan was never any good at hiding his emotions, as are many poets). Marius looked at his friend with deepest comfort, knowing that if he died, Eponine would at least have someone to love her and look after her. Then again, Jehan might die too. That was a blunt way to put it, Marius knew, but the reality was becoming more so with every minute that passed.

"Yes," Marius answered uncertainly. "She is safe."

Suddenly, Enjolras barked from his station, "Positions," and Marius's ears fell into another tuning, or so it seemed. He all at once lost the voices of his friends and heard but one thing: footfalls of soldiers on the other side of the barricades. Silence reigned, occasionally broken by the cocking of a gun. Even the breathing of the men seemed to silence itself.

Then, a voice cried out sharply from the shadowing nothingness beyond the barricade, "Who is there?" This voice was followed by the simultaneous rustling of many more muskets. The soldiers greatly outnumbered the insurgents, it was quite clear.

"French Revolution!" Enjolras shouted loftily.

"Fire!" The response was immediate and dreadful, and before the barricade boys had time to think, a sudden explosion rocked the already shaky foundation beneath them. There was a brilliant flash of light and sound, the noises of ricocheting bullets and tumbling pieces of the barricade sounding like thunder.

Every shot and explosion had come from the Guard's side.

"Don't waste the powder!" cried Courfeyrac as soon as the attack was over, before the alarm had even set in. Marius looked around him and caught his breath. Beside him, Jehan was clutching his gun with white knuckles. The dust was so thick that they could hardly see each other.

"Let us wait to reply till they come into the streets," Courfeyrac went on as Marius took deep breath after deep breath, trying to regain his sense of equilibrium.

"Still hanging in there, Pontmercy?" Marius turned around to see Enjolras standing behind him. It was amazing how calm and orderly he looked, even after such a sudden attack. Marius felt like a dirt-covered dog in comparison. He was sure he looked like one after how dusty he had gotten in moving the paving stones.

"Decently," Marius answered before his friend moved on down the line. Behind him, Marius heard Combeferre say, "Joly, if you would grab his leg…" So there were already wounded men on their side.

"How is your first time with a gun going for you?" Jehan asked conversationally from beside Marius. He had a shaky smile on his glistening face. The rain had picked back up, and despite the smoke and gunpowder, Marius was shivering with cold.

"Wonderful," he responded sarcastically, trying to look lighthearted. He sensed a long night ahead of him, and at the end of it… what?

* * *

Eponine pulled her brother's hat farther down over her head and moved to stretch out the front of her blouse again. Her hair kept falling in her face, and she wished constantly that she had had enough francs to buy a looser men's blouse as well. Two full meals a day had begun to fill back in the features she had been lacking ever since they were supposed to be there, and while she would normally be delighted, especially living in the company of Marius, it added a slight difficulty to her act as a boy. She was, on top of this, afraid that her out of season coat was looking more and more conspicuous to passersby. 

"We're almost there," announced Gavroche excitedly, pointing to a haze of smoke emerging from the end of the street they were now walking down. They could hear the sounds of many manly voices through the haze, and the scent of gunpowder was prominent. Eponine took a deep breath and tried to square her shoulders bravely as they stepped into the intersection of streets serving as the battlegrounds.

The first person to catch sight of them was, regrettably, Courfeyrac, who seemed to be in a sort of frenzy, shouting orders to the men and boys milling around with their guns. Enjolras was in charge, but Courfeyrac was in command. When his eyes fell upon Gavroche, he exclaimed, "_Mon Dieu, _Gavroche! What in heaven's name are you doing out here?"

"Helping," the small child answered smartly.

"No, you will get killed!" Courfeyrac looked around in a panic, torn between continuing to shout orders, and getting the boy out. Just as this was going on, it would appear that Enjolras caught sight of the scene unfolding as well.

"You have no place here, Gavroche," he said sternly.

"It's funny," Gavroche went on. "You talk of fighting for the 'abased'. Well, here I am: abased, abused, and ready to fight for the Cause! Consider it self-defense." Eponine had to try her hardest to conceal a small laugh at her brother's words. She had turned her back, but could almost sense the smile on Courfeyrac's face, and the un-amused look on Enjolras's face.

Gavroche saw his sister wander away out of the corner of his eye, clearly to run off and look for Marius. He sighed and looked up at his elders. "So," he said, his nose turned up in the air. "Where's my musket?"

Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac and said quietly, "He would be safer to stay at this point, I believe. All of us would be. Just give him a gun from one of the wounded." Courfeyrac nodded, relayed the news to Gavroche, and in minutes the older boys were back to their posts, and Gavroche was armed with a musket larger than his own body, or so it seemed. He was testing it out for size when Eponine came running back up to him, her coat tugged tightly around her body.

"You seen your sweetheart?" Gavroche asked childishly.

"He's fine," Eponine replied, sounding quite relieved.

Her brother laughed to himself. "I still can't believe the landlady thinks you two to be married." (Eponine couldn't help but note his grammar when speaking in these past few days - he was following in her tracks and molding his speech patterns to be more and more proper as the days went on. Living with respectable people had done a number on both of them).

"Neither can I," Eponine admitted.

Just as she was speaking, there was a terrible noise from behind: a canon. Before anyone had a single second to react, another attack had ensued. Gavroche looked up and saw the glinting edges of bayonets leaping over the top of the barricade. Enjolras and Courfeyrac yelled simultaneously, "Fire!"

Gavroche pulled up his giant gun into position, and almost toppled over from its weight. He vaguely heard his sister cry out from somewhere to his left, but all he could focus on was one single glinting edge headed straight in his direction. No, it was not headed for the _gamin_, he realized at the very second that a large body was shoved to the ground by the end of the gun, right beside Gavroche, and a voice rung out, "Help!"

"Courfeyrac!" Gavroche cried, hating how scrawny and childish his voice sounded in the middle of the fracas. He raised his gun and attempted to pull the trigger, but his finger slipped, just as something hit him from behind. He screamed from pain, realizing that the sharp end of a bayonet had just pierced the skin of his upper arm. His own name was shouted from somewhere behind him, but he could not tell who was who in the hell that surrounded him right now. All he knew after the metal edge dislodged itself from his arm were two loud gunshots, and the thuds of two large bodies falling next to him, one to his left and one to his right. Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him into a rough embrace, and just as they were doing so, someone in the distance shouted something, and the gunshots stopped abruptly in the time of less than half a minute.

Gavroche was left feeling dizzy and dazed. He looked up and saw Courfeyrac's arms around his bony shoulders. His many pride kicked in, and he pulled himself from the embrace, reaching for the gun he had dropped, useless, on the now unpaved street. "I'm fine," he growled, though his arm was paining him a great deal.

"You could have been killed, Gavroche," Courfeyrac argued, sounding a lot like Eponine. "If you can't leave, at least let Combeferre and Joly find someplace in the tavern for you to hide."

"You sound like my sister," Gavroche retorted, speaking his mind. That was when, with the thought of Eponine on his mind, he noticed that the sister in question was no longer by his side. He looked around in all directions, but all he could see was dust and vague outlines of insurgents scrambling around, helping the wounded or helping their own wounds.

"Where's Eponine?" he asked, looking up at Courfeyrac. The older boy shrugged, but just as he did so Feuilly came hurrying up, a frantic look on his face. He did not even note the presence of Gavroche.

"Have you seen Jehan?" he asked quickly. Courfeyrac shook his head slowly, a dark look in his usually bright gold eyes.

"Is he-"

"Not among the dead, not among the wounded," Feuilly finished. They both looked down across the street and over to the top of the barricade.

_Prisoners_. Gavroche gulped, thinking of his sister. Suddenly, the rainy evening became even darker.

* * *

**Review, please. **


	21. Panic

Longest chapter ever: more than 3,000 words.

I greatly sympathize with J.K. Rowling after writing this chapter. Once again, you'll see why.

I do not own _Les Miserables_.

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Chapter Twenty-One: Panic

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Marius saw Bahorel die. He was only feet away, thrusting the barrel of his gun towards an advancing soldier, when he heard a strangled grunt from somewhere to one side of him. He turned around just in time to see a Guard pulling a bloodied bayonet out from Bahorel's chest. The man fell limp and crimson-stained to the dusty ground. It was all Marius could do not to be sick. Though he had never been particularly close to Bahorel in the allotted time they had known each other, Marius could not help but imagine the same thing happening to his closer friends on opposite sides of the makeshift battlefield: Jehan, Courfeyrac, Enjolras… God forbid Eponine should show up here against his will.

When the fighting suddenly subdued around him, the first person he looked for was Enjolras. Finding him at the doorway to Corinth, Marius inquired, "Why did they back off?"

"They were losing too many men." Enjolras could not help but smile. So far, they had not been struck a losing blow. At least, he thought that until Marius stepped up and told him, his voice cracking slightly, "Bahorel is dead."

Enjolras tried not to cringe, but the force of the news was too harsh. Dead? Of course - it was a _revolution_. He had told his friends, Enjolras had, that they might die. Why was it such as shock to him? _He_ had prepared to die… But, he realized coldly, he had not prepared himself to watch _them_ die. Shakily, he reached out and put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, but he could not think not anything to say.

It was at this moment that Feuilly came rushing over to them, wide-eyed and panicked. "Have either of you seen Jehan?"

Prouvaire… When had Marius last seen him?

"No, I have not," answered Enjolras. "Not since-"

"He was right beside me on the barricades," said Marius. "Right before the last attack. I don't know where he is now, though."

Feuilly took a deep breath. "What is the count?" he asked.

"Bahorel is dead," Marius said, his voice wavering just a bit. Feuilly winced.

"And there are many more wounded," added Enjolras, who had just been inside of the wineshop.

Feuilly thanked them and continued his inquiry elsewhere. The air around them took on a cold gravity.

Suddenly, a piercing, devastated scream came from what seemed like nowhere, echoing off of the buildings and the barricade. Marius's blood seemed to freeze at the strong sense of familiarity with that voice. Oh, God. Eponine.

"_Merde_," Marius cursed loudly. "Eponine?!" He dropped his gun in the doorway and took off running in the direction the shout had come from; he reached the barricade in a matter of seconds. _No_… A cold pain filled his heart as he began to clamber up atop the structure. "Eponine!" he cried out once more.

Just then another voice rang out, also familiar to Marius, and deathly chilling: "Long live France! Love live the future!" Jehan. _Oh God, not him too…_

He was only a couple of steps into the climb when a gunshot rang out, and everything went silent. The third time he called her name, it seemed unlikely that anyone in the entire city would not have heard it, and felt its agony.

* * *

_About fifteen minutes before…_

"I still can't believe the landlady think you two to be married."

"Neither can I." Eponine laughed briefly at her brother's statement. It was almost a joy to hear him jest about such things; it reminded her that people thought she and Marius to be a couple, and what better way to pass time than to imagine oneself in heaven?

This frame of mind was quickly thrown away at the sound of gunfire from the direction of the barricade. Gavroche heaved his musket up into position, and all around her Eponine saw musket after musket, pistol after pistol, being drawn in defense as a mass of soldiers suddenly appeared tumbling over what seemed to be the equivalent of a horizon to those inside of the barricades. Just as they reached the middle of the decline, the firing began. Eponine had to cover her ears, an easy thing to do, as she was one of the only people out here who wasn't armed. Looking through her hazy vision, Eponine could hardly see as far as ten feet in front of her.

It was amazing, therefore, that she saw Marius at all.

He was holding his position at the foot of the barricade, right where the stampede of soldiers were clashing. He had a musket in his hand and a determined look on his face; he looked as though he would kill anyone who tried to hurt his friends. He was well protected. This sight eased Eponine's mind a little, knowing that he had the situation under control.

Not being armed, Eponine decided that the most sensible thing to do besides leave altogether would be to run for shelter in the tavern, but in the smoke and the gunfire, she could hardly tell which way was up, much less which way the wineshop was in. Night was beginning slowly to fall, creating a miserable blend of smoke, dusk, and warm rain. Eponine coughed and choked on the dirt in the air as the gunshots continued to ring out. _I should be at the wineshop by now_, she told herself, looking around but finding that everything was indistinguishable through the smoke.

Then, a rough hand grabbed her by the arm and tugged her drastically off course, over to one side. Eponine's first instinct was that it was a friend of hers, tugging her to safety, but when she felt herself thrown harshly up against some wall, causing her hat to fall off, she realized that she was obviously not in the hands of allies.

"Well, what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" Eponine opened her eyes to see the Guardsman looking down his nose at her, so close that she could feel the breath from his nose on her face. She whimpered involuntarily, suddenly thinking of the incident in the alleyway just last week. Now, however, it was worse. These men had everything that one had, plus guns.

Just as the man leaned in, a familiar voice to Eponine's left rang out.

"Don't you _touch_ her!" Jean Prouvaire barked, sounding as mad as Eponine had ever heard, and would ever hear, him sound. In no more than two seconds he had propelled himself forward and kicked the Guard in the gut. As the latter man reeled over in pain, a second soldier stepped up from behind.

"Your friends over there have one of our officers," he said icily, and the two captives remembered vaguely: something about a spy and Enjolras…

Suddenly, a small child's voice rang out from over the barricade. "Courfeyrac!" yelled Gavroche from a great distance. Eponine froze and listened, but there was so much gunfire that it was hard to tell who was being shot.

"I'm telling you now," she hissed at the Guard who was gripping her. "If my brother gets shot, I am going to kill all of you, no matter what it takes!" Her statement was melodramatic, and came out between sobs, but there was no faking it that she was absolutely terrified by this point. When Jehan made a move to touch her shoulder, he was struck by the end of the man's gun.

It was at this moment that the fighting, as has been recounted, came to a sudden halt, and the only noise was the large numbers of soldiers climbing back to their own side, one of the officers barking orders at them.

"Robert," the Guard who had been kicked by Jehan said. "What is going _on_? Why are we _retreating_?"

"We've lost too many for one attack," Robert replied. "We're going to get back at them in the morning, when it is lighter out." It was indeed almost dark. There was blood dripping down a wound on his arm that he was covering with his other hand, and Eponine felt like she was going to be terribly sick.

"Yes!" Jehan cheered quietly, but the man holding him back caught his silent glee and, without sound or apparent reason, twirled his musket around and shoved the bayonet end deep into the boy's thigh. Jehan cried out in pain, his face twisting purple and red as the man ruthlessly yanked the spear out from the leg moments later. Eponine shrieked at the sight of the whole thing, and the scream echoed throughout the streets louder than any gunshot so far had. She rushed forwards to grab her friend, and Jehan made a move to reach for Eponine as well, but the Guard kicked back the girl, sending her sprawling next to Jehan. Before either of them could so much as breathe, the Guard had pulled out a pistol from his belt and, without further ado, pressed it firmly up against Jehan's head.

"No!" Eponine chirped, pulling herself to her feet. She stumbled, but Jehan, under the weight of the gun on his head, grabbed onto the girl's hand and held her halfway up beside him. They made eye contact. Eponine was in agony, and Jehan was in thought, and they were both afraid, and they could tell this from each other in that brief moment. Then, something different flashed in Jehan's eyes, and with one last look at Eponine, he looked up to the sky and cried, in the loudest and boldest voice of all, nothing like that of the poet he was at heart: _"Long live France, and long live the future!" _

The Guardsman pulled the trigger.

Eponine hit the ground running as soon as Jehan's limp hand let her drop. Her heart was screaming, and her ears were ringing, and from somewhere she briefly heard someone call her name, but at that moment all she could feel was her friend's blood covering her, and the terrible sense that she was going to be sick. She did not known where she was going, but she was going there fast, running as hard as her feet would carry her through the maze of streets that may or may not have been leading her to safety. She did not look back, nor did she pause to take a breath…

…Until she tripped over a broken crate lying in the perfect center of the road, and was thrown harshly to the ground.

The rain was falling mercilessly around and on top of her, and she was now covered, in addition to blood, with mud and murky water. Marius's best coat was stained and torn and scuffed, and her brother's shoes had come clean off and were lying a few feet apart in the light from an open window somewhere on the street. Eponine got to her hands and knees and crawled over to where the shoes were. Putting them back on her sore feet, she took a good look at the stains on her blouse and it hit her: Jehan was _dead_. She had just watched one of her best friends _die_. His blood was all over her, like a scar to remind her. She began to cry bitterly.

About half an hour or more later, Eponine pulled herself to her feet and shuffled along down the street some more, severely limping on her aching feet. Just as she passed the entrance to an alleyway next to one of the dilapidated buildings, the sounds of voices reached her ears. She looked down the dark pathway and, much to her surprise, noticed that there was indeed a light at the other end, with voices accompanying it! She had found her way back! She began to run again, albeit gingerly. It did occur to Eponine that she could just as well be running straight into the National Guards again, but it was too late. She was already emerging from the alleyway…

…And straight into the middle of a hustle of familiar faces, belonging to men who were far from uniformed.

She shed the coat by the entrance of the alleyway she had come through, hoping that with the loss of the giant garment some of the gruesome truth of her experience might be lost as well. It was now completely black outside, made darker by the moon having been covered up by rain clouds that were now issuing soft thunder in the background. Eponine shivered from cold and looked around, hoping desperately for a familiar face. A sudden thought occurred to her - there had to have been some casualties in the last attack… _No_, she told herself. _I will not think of that_.

Torches were lit here and there, revealing the muddy ground and the milling of exhausted revolutionaries around the outside of the tavern. Eponine wandered over there first, and that was where the first familiar faces came into view. Standing just inside the door was Combeferre, speaking to a man whom Eponine did not recognize. She wasted no time in throwing herself past the men standing near the door and practically leaping inside of the wineshop. It was slightly warmer there.

To say that Combeferre was shocked at her appearance would have been a great understatement. He was completely stunned. His face went white as a sheet for a moment, but immediately broke into the gayest of grins. He adjusted his spectacles and looked at Eponine through wide eyes.

"You're… _alive_!" he exclaimed joyfully. "It was not you we heard scream?"

While crying earlier, Eponine had prepared herself to tell her friends the story of what had happened to her, but now it all seemed to vanish as she fell into Combeferre's arms and burst into tears.

When Combeferre pulled back moments later, however, his smile vanished upon seeing the blood all over Eponine's blouse. He stepped back and took a good look, careful not to touch her, lest he injure her further. "Eponine - you have been shot!"

"Not me," she managed to stammer. "Jehan." Then, in a series of sobs and embraces, she told him the story as she had planned. Combeferre became somber and grave, and tears welled up in his eyes as he listened, but he did not speak, except to say, "God rest his soul. He was the bravest of us all."

When the story was done, Combeferre wasted no time in ushering Eponine out of the wineshop and back onto the streets, away from the eyes of those who would ask too many questions ("I will tell them all," he said courteously). He took her across the littered ground and to a side of the street on which no torch cast light. Eponine looked up at Combeferre, confused, but he only said, "Go talk to him," and she understood.

Stepping over into the shadows, Eponine waited until Combeferre had gone to call out, "Marius?" as softly as she could. There was a hasty movement somewhere in the dark, and Eponine repeated the name. Slowly, a figure emerged from behind a the corner of a beaten down building, cleanly out of the view of the wineshop. In the dim light from the torches across the street, Eponine could make out Marius's features, but his eyes looked black and sagging, and he appeared deathly pale. She swallowed a lump in her throat and made a move towards him. "Marius," she said, tentatively.

"Eponine," Marius replied, and no other words were needed.

It could not be said who ran for who, but only seconds later the two were wrapped up in what could be ranked among the most passionate embraces in history. They were both shaking and crying, and Marius took the effort to say, "I thought you were dead."

"I was taken prisoner," Eponine whispered, pulling back from his arms a little bit. "It's… it's Jehan who's dead." Marius choked at these words, and Eponine saw some more tears welling up in his eyes, but instead of dwelling on that he just turned back to Eponine and looked her in the eye.

"What part of 'stay here' don't you and your brother comprehend?" he asked lightly, and Eponine smiled.

"I could not let you go," Eponine said firmly but lovingly. "I told you that."

Marius breathed in deeply and stroked her hair. "I know. I wish I had stayed, now, at the apartment with you. Then you never would have had to see…" He trailed off, knowing she would not want to speak of Jehan again so soon. "Oh," he exclaimed. "You could never know how sick I was with grief when I thought they had shot you! I heard you scream, and I heard the gunshot, and I was sure you were gone..." His voice was trembling. She looked up at his face, and immediately one thing occurred to her.

She pulled herself up, holding onto his shoulders, and kissed him square on the mouth.

Marius could have been knocked over with a feather at that very moment. His heart and lungs seemed to stop working, and all he could feel was Eponine's lips on his and the tensing of his muscles when she pushed her hands up around the back of his head to steady herself. Marius wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her as close as he could without hurting her. And for what could have been seconds or ages, they stayed like this.

When Eponine pulled away, she immediately buried her face once more in the front of his shirt. Her body was still shaking with sobs and the cold, but a warm sort of thrill had now entered her body and mind, and she was not so miserable.

"Marius," she said quietly, looking up at him slightly. "I love you."

Marius kissed the top of her head and blinked back tears of sheer unnamed emotion. "I love you too, Eponine."

Even in his happiness and relief, however, Marius could not help but think: they had both come this far into the barricades alive, but there were still hours, perhaps a full day, ahead of them before it was over, and the fighting could get worse. He kissed her on the head again and felt a shudder go down his spine, knowing that Jehan and Bahorel would not be that last, and hoping that Eponine would not be next.

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**Review please. **


	22. A Dubious Sense of Safety

**Ugh, I'm sorry about such a long wait, only to post such a boring filler chapter as this one, but I've had a computer restriction all of this school week. It was all because of a C on a history test; my mom blamed it on my being on the computer all the time, though it was really just because I forgot my notes the night before the test. I've been going totally bonkers without my computer, which is dutifully named Enjolras. **

**And once again, I do not own _Les Miserables. _**

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: A Dubious Sense of Safety**

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No questions were asked upon Eponine's return to the wineshop. She took this to mean that Combeferre, who gave her a single, kind look, had explained everything to those who cared. Not everyone there had known Jehan personally.

Out of those who did greet her, the most enthusiastic by far was Gavroche. He came speeding at her from behind like a bullet, throwing his small arms around his older sister's waist. When he pulled back, he looked up at her and said, "And _you _told _me_ to be careful!" It was a little brother's way of saying, "I was worried sick!"

Feuilly explained to Eponine in an undertone: since she had gone missing, Gavroche had cut himself off verbally from the other boys, saying nothing but, "My sister is dead. My sister is dead" with a grave look on his face. However difficult Eponine found this to picture, she could not help but hold her brother more tightly and finger his shabby brown hair in a motherly manner.

"No questions" did not mean no attention, however. She received a bear hug from Courfeyrac, a persistent medical inquiry from Joly, and even a pat on the back from Enjolras within minutes of having entered the room. It seemed that having been captured and traumatized had made her somewhat of a celebrity. All Eponine wanted now, however, was to grab Marius and her brother and drag them back to the flat, and to safety. Once there, she would drink something hot and take a long nap.

This dream was not to be realized, for moments later Enjolras appeared by her side, holding out a crude metal key.

"Mademoiselle Thenardier," he said gently yet sternly. "There is no telling when the fighting will start back up. You and Gavroche would be much safer if you stayed in the basement, away from the battle. It is much too dangerous in the streets to send you home."

"But Monsieur Enjolras," Eponine protested, a sudden thought coming to mind. She lowered her voice. "I overheard a soldier saying that they would wait until morning to attack again, when it was light out."

"And he said this in front of an insurgent and a girl who might as well have been a spy?" Enjolras's expression shifted, and Eponine found herself frozen beneath his glare.

"They were planning on killing me and Jehan, they were," Eponine answered. "I got away, though, is all."

"Basement," Enjolras said simply, as though he had briefly considered her words, and then continued on with his own ways. He handed her the key and walked away.

Eponine had the mind to throw the key to the ground, but a sort of guilt overcame her, and she pocketed the thing and searched for her brother, who had run off to who-knows-where. The events had brought out the _gamin _in him once more, so it would seem.

Marius would not want her dead, she reasoned as she wandered throughout the room that made up the first floor of the building. He loved her, she now knew, and it would be the cruelest of sins to put herself in the face of violence underneath his nose. This guilt troubled her.

However, Eponine had heard many times, "We will die? Yes, we will die" spoken here and there. Was it true? She shuddered and looked around once more for Marius; she did not see him. What if the hour of death came and she could not speak to him? What if he was injured while Eponine was trapped in the basement? It would be torture to wait in agony, listening to the sounds of fighting and wondering who had just hit the floor above her, dead and bleeding…

She held the key tight inside her pocket and continued looking for her brother.

It was a nearly impossible task to tear Gavroche away from Courfeyrac, with whom he had been speaking in the meantime, but with a couple of meaningful looks at the young man, Eponine managed to break up the conversation and drag her brother off in the direction of the basement door.

"But I want to fight!" Gavroche argued fervently as Eponine opened the door. It lead down a dank staircase and into what appeared to be a pit of blackness.

"You will get killed, 'Vroche," Eponine said bleakly. She turned around and took a good look at the room, and at the young men milling around it. Would she see it this way again? _And just when he told me he loved me_, she thought bitterly as she forced her thoughts in a different direction and closed the door. She carefully led the way down into the cellar, her brother grasped tightly around the shoulders. He had stopped struggling, and Eponine wagered that he was exhausted, having been on his feet all day. He just leaned his head into her arm and allowed her to guide him.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Eponine saw that the room was dimly lit by the light shining through the floorboards that made up the ceiling. Using those shafts of light as a guide, Eponine picked out a corner directly across from her and, brother in tow, slumped down against the wall. _It feels like heaven to be sitting down at last_, she remembered thinking before she fell deeply asleep.

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Sometime during the night, Eponine awoke for a few seconds to faint footsteps climbing the staircase. She briefly registered the door opening and closing, but her tired mind did not buy into it. When she lowered her head back against her body to fall back asleep, she noticed that she and her brother had been covered by a blanket. 

There was a warm, tingling feeling on her cheek, from where Marius had given her a small kiss moments before, but she only thought of this for a couple of seconds before she went back into her surprisingly dreamless slumber.

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**Review, please. It should not be long until I have the next chapter up, assuming I can keep my grades decent. Love, Giz.**


	23. A Grave Change of Plans

**In which for once it is _not_ Eponine thrown into the mindless drama...**

**I do not own _Les Miserables_. **

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: A Grave Change of Plans**

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Eponine was right. There were no attacks while it was still dark, but once the sun had been up for about an hour the insurgents could hear the noise of movement on the other side of the barricade. Enjolras ordered his comrades to stay prepared and ready with their guns.

"Pontmercy," Combeferre said to Marius just as the younger boy was reaching for his musket. "Go into the basement with Eponine. You need not fight with us when you have more important things than martyrdom." Combeferre seemed to say the last word with spite, and for a moment Marius wondered over his friends loyalty. He did not have long to think of such things, however, as Enjolras suddenly appeared beside Combeferre and said in an undertone, "Positions."

Combeferre gave Marius one last look, and as the tall man walked away, Enjolras turned to Marius. "Stay safe, kid," he said firmly, a faint smile on his pale face. Then, he too walked away.

Marius was stricken with the decision. He did not want to abandon his friends! He wanted to stay and fight alongside them, just as he had done the day before. Knowing Eponine was safe was enough for him to go by, even if he never saw her again.

_Even if he never saw her again_… Marius pushed the thought from his mind and picked up his musket, clutching it in his hands. He had _said _his goodbye to Eponine, last night while she was sleeping. He had prepared himself for this battle. They both knew there was a chance of death for anyone here. Marius knew he could not live knowing he had locked himself in a closet while all of his friends were being killed upstairs. That would be worse than torture at a time like this. No, he would have to stay here and fight. He followed Enjolras and Combeferre out of the wineshop.

There was a quiet chaos outside as schoolboys and young men scurried around like rats, reaching for guns and waiting for orders. In the dim light, Marius could make out Feuilly and Courfeyrac helping a few men to repair one section of the barricade which had been damaged; Joly was examining the bandaged shoulder of a man who looked insistent on fighting; Bossuet was helping to load cartridges into guns, over by the outside wall of the wineshop. Marius half found himself looking around for Bahorel and Jehan, until he remembered. They were dead. Those words still struck a nerve, he found.

"Who said you could come out of the basement?" Marius heard Bossuet say from behind him. He turned around and saw the older man accosting Eponine, who was standing in the doorway, clutching a hat over her head as though she expected it to work again.

"No one," she answered defiantly. "I want to fight." Upon seeing Marius, she broke into a grin. "Oh, I was right about the attacks," she said to him. "We are still safe! Oh, I _told _Enjolras, but he didn't believe me-"

"Eponine," said Marius. "You _must _go back downstairs. No one is safe up here!" There was fear in his eyes. Experience told him that it would be near impossible to get her back to safety now. However, it had to be done.

"In_cluding_ you!" she retorted, a reoccurring argument to which Marius had never been able to summon up an answer.

"Eponine…" Marius was exasperated, and with ever look down at her determined face he grew softer yet more protective at once. He knew she would never give in and return to the basement unless he went with her, and yet, looking at her, he suddenly wondered how he had ever expected himself to die without seeing her once more.

"I _will _fight," she said almost angrily before stomping off in search of a gun.

Marius put one hand to his head and sighed heavily. This was going to be a long and hard day, he was sure. Then, another familiar voice reached his ear.

"Not Gavroche too…" he moaned aloud.

"_Gamin_," came Enjolras voice, in a mocking tone.

"Greenhorn!" Gavroche shot back, sticking his tongue fully out. "At _least_ give me a gun from one of the dead!"

"My child," Combeferre said, almost amused. "You have no place with a gun twice your size."

The boy was bright red by this point, fuming completely. "I had a gun in 1830!" he declared. "A big musket, as big as your carbine there!" He pointed to Enjolras with one grubby finger.

The young blonde man hesitated and looked across and up at Combeferre, who was still standing in silence. With a reluctant sigh, Enjolras turned to Joly, who was standing nearest the wineshop. "Christian, would you find a spare gun for Gavroche?" Joly just nodded curtly, a vague smile on his face, as he went to search among the wounded for an unused musket.

Minutes later, Gavroche was armed and ecstatic, bounding around throughout the clusters of insurgents and trailing after those giving out orders. Enjolras turned his back from the child to go about his business. _What harm could he possibly do out here now? At least he is armed_… he thought. _It is easier than trying to keep him barred in the basement. Maybe this is for the better. _

As is the nature of such thoughts, these mental assurances were going to be proven wrong in a little over an hour.

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It was almost ten o' clock now, and there had not been a sign of an attack in the making. This was what spread the fear the most, Eponine mused as she crouched in the doorway of the wineshop. The peace and silence within the barricades was disturbing and made her feel uneasy. She shifted her position and stretched her legs out before her. Back in the wineshop, she could hear Joly checking up on a patient with a head injury. Eponine had dealt with him that morning when the bleeding started up again; she had been unofficially granted a position as a nurse. 

Thirty more minutes passed, and the sky was beginning to clear up considerably. While it still appeared as a dreary, gray canvas, the drizzling rain had ended, and the sun could almost be seen through some of the thinner spots. Eponine found herself watching the formations as the wind blew the clouds around. Once she thought she saw Azelma's face, but it was gone before she could look closer. Oh, how long ago her sister's death seemed now! Weeks felt like months, what with all of the transitions in between. Eponine could hardly keep track of who and where she had been a year ago at this time. How things change…

There was a strange sort of shifting noise in the quiet air, and Eponine heard the sound of many guns cocking. _Oh God_.

She immediately stood up where she was standing, holding onto the doorway for support as she raised herself onto the ends of her toes to look out across the crowd of her friends, standing in the street with their guns loaded and ready. Where was Gavroche? Where was Marius? Her heart began to race.

"Eponine, stay away from the doorway," warned Joly; Eponine had forgotten he was there at all. She reluctantly moved herself away and allowed him to exit the wineshop, leaving her alone in the unofficial "hospital".

Then, someone cried something, someone responded loudly, and the firing began. Eponine screamed without even realizing it, and ducked to the floor involuntarily. She was slightly aware of Joly's pounding footsteps as he reentered the room at a sprint.

"Away from the doors," he repeated sternly above the sounds of the gunshots. He was everywhere at once, it seemed, as he searched for more lint and rags. There was next to no water left, Eponine had been told that morning when she expressed thirst, and what was left was for the patients.

The girl gulped and got to her feet once more, holding her hands over her ears and still keeping her eyes on the open doorway, ever aware than, somewhere, her brother and Marius were fighting. She thought for a moment to pray, but in the confusion, her intentions were forgotten.

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Gavroche had promptly begun buzzing with energy when the first sounds of gunfire rang out. He leapt to his feet (as he had been uncharacteristically crouched on the ground examining a painful toe) and gripped his gun close to him. He had been pulled out of the last battle, he remembered harshly, by Courfeyrac, responding to the bayonet wound on Gavroche's arm, now bandaged thoroughly. This time, he was going to fight! 

The child clambered towards the barricade and began to mount the wooden and twisted metal foothills. He gritted his teeth as his hand came down hard on the rough edge of a broken table leg. Ignoring the pain, he pulled himself farther up until he was almost to the top, where some of the more important insurgents were crouched. Gavroche let out a yelp as a ball whizzed close to him. It was this small noise that came to the attention of the man closest to Gavroche: it was Enjolras.

A fire lit up in the young man's blue eyes when he saw the child teetering beside him on the top of the barricade, and he clenched his gun so hard that his knuckles turned white as a sheet.

"I assumed you might could use some help," Gavroche said with a smug grin above the sounds of blast around him.

"You are going to get yourself killed up here, Gavroche!" Enjolras scolded, sounding frantic. Gavroche, having heard this ample times, waved it off with a chuckle. Suddenly, there was a particularly thunderous blast some yards down the barricade, and the foundation shook. Gavroche fell into Enjolras, and the older boy just barely caught him before he tumbled backwards down the battlement.

"Leave," he ordered. "Go back to your sister."

"Was it not _you _who gave me the gun in the first place?" Gavroche retorted, sneering.

"I gave it to you so you could defend yourself, not so you could endanger your own life up _here_!"

"I'm no different from the rest of you novices. Why _shouldn't _I get to stay?"

Enjolras did not answer. He moved his footing carefully to the right, stepping gingerly so as not to shake the barricade or get himself shot in the commotion.

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras called to his friend. The older boy was busying himself with defending the section of the battlement which had been damaged most severely by the last round of grapeshot.

"Hey?" Courfeyrac looked up.

"What's the count?"

Courfeyrac looked pained. "Several have been sent to Joly, wounded."

"And the dead?"

"… Feuilly… He was shot just a few minutes ago." Enjolras perceived tears in his best friend's eyes, and felt a dampness rising in his own.

Suddenly, a small voice rang out from behind: "Those-" (in another situation, Enjolras might have been amused by Gavroche's adept skill in cursing so fluently) "-are going to pay!"

"Gavroche!" Courfeyrac exclaimed just as Enjolras turned around to see the child standing right over his shoulder, his gun raised into the air.

"I told you to get out of here!" Enjolras was just about to say when another round of grapeshot rocked the barricade dangerously. This time, all three of the boys lost their footing as a sizeable section of the structure crumbled right before them, creating a piercing creak. Courfeyrac cried out and held himself steadfast to a slab of paving stone settled beneath his feet, but Gavroche was not so lucky. He cried out as he tumbled backwards, and the piece of stone he had been standing on fell bluntly to the ground, breaking into pieces. Enjolras, thinking fast, reached out and grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him back up onto the barricade, which was still teetering dangerously.

No sooner had Gavroche been pulled back up onto sturdier ground than a third blast rocked the foundation, and several men behind him leapt aside to avoid the gunfire. One of them collided with Gavroche, who was still clutching his gun protectively to his chest. That was when it happened.

Instead of being knocked straight into Enjolras as he had been before, Gavroche fell into the barricade, as if he were collapsing to lean against it. Just before he hit his head on a piece of wood sticking out, he threw out his arm to catch and stable himself. At the same time, Enjolras reached out to steady the boy, attempting to keep a firm footing.

Everything, from the second blast until this, happened in no more than about ten seconds. Gavroche, perhaps, did not even know he had been shoved from behind.

Somewhere in the tangle that occurred as Gavroche attempted to stay standing, his elbow collided with his gun, and, by a twisted caricature of divine intervention, the trigger went off.

The next few seconds were hell for little Gavroche. He managed to find his footing, but his recently discharged gun fell to the ground, silently to his ringing ears. It was the first time he had ever fired a musket, and as he watched the scene play out before him, he swore it would be his last. Enjolras might have cried out, but Gavroche could not hear it. He just watched in horror as the older boy clutched at his chest, where the bullet had gone through and out the back. His steely eyes met Gavroche's one more time before he stumbled backwards and fell directly from the battlement.

Then, it all came flying back to Gavroche, and he cried out, _"Enjolras!_", just as Courfeyrac yelled the same thing a couple of feet to the left. As Gavroche watched the brown-haired, dirty-faced young man clamber down towards the ground, his eyes filled up with childish tears, and he sunk to the surface he was sitting on with a terrible sob.

The brave leader had fallen early into the battle: shot down by an eleven-year-old.

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Marius heard the cries from where he was crouched near the far edge of the barricade, and he leapt up automatically, a pang of frenzy in his gut. _"Enjolras_!" It was the unmistakable voice of Gavroche, coming from atop the barricade some yards down. 

Dust was flying from the collapsed sections of the battlement, and Marius coughed as he climbed back down to the streets and dropped his gun on the pavement. Rushing in the direction of the cry, he kept an eye out for the child, and also for the blonde leader in question. It did not take him as long as one would expect.

Courfeyrac was crouched in a panic over a bloodied body lying eagle spread on the pavement. When Marius bent down beside his friend, he nearly choked at the sight of Enjolras, limp and unconscious, bleeding from a bullet wound through his left shoulder. His first instinct was that the boy was dead, but a shallow rise and fall of the stained chest proved him, to his relief, wrong.

"Marius!" Courfeyrac exclaimed when he looked up to see the younger boy crouched beside him. He glanced around frantically, an expression of turbulent concern in his golden-flecked eyes. "Marius, I need you to go get Joly for me." He motioned down at Enjolras, and Marius nodded hastily. A million questions filled his mind, but he knew that anything said would be lost in the fracas. Standing up, he began to make his way over to the wineshop. He hardly remembered dropping his gun, and for a moment he searched for it in his hands and on his belt. Confusion overcame him as the dust got heavier. He knew it would not be long until the barricade was taken, from the looks of things. Enjolras getting shot seemed to have dissipated any illusion of invincibility remaining inside the barricade, Marius mused.

As he was just passing the very edge of the battlement, a different sort of bullet hit Marius from the side. When he looked down, he saw Gavroche; the boy flung his small arms around Marius. He was crying fervently.

"Gavroche," Marius began, gazing at the shaking child. Before he could get another word in, Gavroche blurted out, through shudders and sobs:

"I killed him, Marius! I killed him! I shot him!" Then, he continued sobbing. Marius, awkward and shocked, patted the boy on the back. His mind was a whirlwind. _I killed him_… Who had Gavroche killed?

It came back to him slowly. Gavroche's voice crying out on the barricade… _Gavroche_ had shot Enjolras! It had been the boy, not a soldier. But… why?

"He's not dead," Marius said quickly. "He's alive. I'm just on my way to get him some help." He could feel tears coming into his own eyes now.

"No, I _shot_ him! I _did_! It was an accident, I _swear_! But I-"

Marius had reached the wineshop. Before Gavroche could blubber another word, Marius was searching for Joly in the crowd. The small-framed doctor was on the other side of the room, dressing the wound of a man Marius did not recognize. Leaving Gavroche at the door, he hurried down the narrow aisle of makeshift cots to where Joly was standing.

"Joly," he said, panting. "Enjolras needs help. He's been shot." Out of confusion and sympathy, Marius did not mention by whom.

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**Longest chapter yet. I know the concept is kind of strange, but I'm pleased with it nonetheless. I like the idea of injuring someone other than poor Eponine for once, and my dearly beloved seemed like the next best choice. **

**Review, please! Love, Giz. **


	24. Several Hours Pass

**Sorry about the wait. School has been crazy, plus play practice, so I've barely had time to type anything at all. But finally, here's chapter twenty-four. Enjoy**

**I do not own _Les Miserables_. **

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Several Hours Pass**

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Joly cursed loudly and put a hand to his forehead. In the din of the wineshop, his temples were beginning to throb with sharp pain. He cursed again.

There were no cots left, nor mattresses, nor blankets to lay across empty plots of floor. In the time that Joly had been tending frantically to Enjolras's shoulder, several more wounded men had been carried in and given the remaining space. Now, the young doctor was left only with a small corner, a miniscule amount of lint, and a couple of wet, overly used rags.

"Please, just hold on," he said aloud again to his hardly conscious friend. Enjolras had stirred slightly a couple of times since he had been brought in, but had not yet opened his eyes. It was for the better, Combeferre had noted after a quick medical exam: a gunshot wound to the shoulder, a concussion from the fall, and a double-fracture in the elbow would be too much were Enjolras awake, especially under such conditions. Still, every time Joly looked down at his friend and saw the blood-tipped blonde hair and the pale, frowning face, he wanted more than anything for Enjolras to just open his eyes and be alright.

"I found some more lint, M. Joly," said a quiet, raspy voice from overhead. Joly looked up and saw Eponine hovering over him, holding out a meager supply of lint. "It was in a little box in the cupboards."

"_Merci, _Eponine," he said in reply, taking the lint from the girl. She had a deep concern in her tearful brown eyes, and it was beginning to show in wrinkles across her sweaty forehead. Joly knew just by looking at his friends that, if they lived through this, they would appear to have aged at least ten years a piece just in the short time of the barricades. He had spied some fading patches in Courfeyrac's light brown mop of hair earlier, he thought, and he could feel his own dark curls growing greyer by the minute. _Twenty-five, going on forty_, he mused as he pressed another wet rag against Enjolras's bleeding head.

"Could I be of help?" Eponine asked, bending over farther. Her eyes were on Enjolras, who had just taken another shuddering breath. Her matted hair fell in Joly's line of vision as she squatted beside him.

The young man considered it, but shook his head. "You would be better to tend to the other wounded while I am helping him." Eponine nodded sadly, but went about her way.

"Marius," she said, coming upon her closest friend. He was standing in the doorway, having just spoken to Bossuet, who was heading out the door. Eponine leaned into the wall next to him and looked up into his face. Marius looked distant and unfocused; he appeared to be staring intently at a patch of cleared road before him.

"What are you thinking of?" Eponine asked, furrowing her brow.

"I just wish there was a way to get you and your brother out of here," Marius answered, his voice low and weary.

"You _know_ I would not go unless you came with us." This argument was ancient.

Marius sighed heavily and looked back down at Eponine. Her blouse was ruined with dirt and the blood of other men, and her skirt had been torn up to her knees, almost, to create makeshift bandages. A men's coat was wrapped around her shoulders to warm her from the still-driving rain. Her hair, matted and soaked through with rain and grease, was stuck to her cheeks like a masquerade facade. As small as the oversized garment made her look, there was a tired expression in her eyes and on her thin face that made her appear an old maid instead of a seventeen-year-old girl. Joly's unspoken theory was proven right in this portrait.

"Yes," Marius answered sadly. "I know. But you at _least _must heed our words and take shelter in the basement, 'Ponine, if you are determined to stay in this place."

Eponine did not seem to hear him. "Do you think M. Enjolras shall be alright?"

It will be noted that Eponine did not know the story of Gavroche's gun; she would _never_ know, except perhaps in a conversation with her brother in their old age, if that age ever came.

Marius twisted his face gravely. "He will be fine," he said, not exactly knowing the extent of truth in his words. "Joly is a talented man."

"I found some more lint in a cupboard," Eponine announced, "but there is next to no room left for the wounded! We shall have to start using the basement."

Marius shook his head. "There is no light down there to work by." Eponine's face fell.

"Marius?" she said suddenly. "When this is over…"

Marius swallowed hard, glancing around at the street and the gun smoke. _When_… _If… _He shuddered.

"Yes?"

"What are we going to do then?" Eponine was not looking at Marius; she was gazing up at the cloudy sky, a vague look in her eyes.

"And what do you mean by that?" Marius knew perfectly what she meant, but he was a timid fellow.

Eponine bit her lower lip, and some tears welled up in the edges of her eyes. "I mean, will we keep on living in the flat, with Gavroche? Or will we… Could we ever… I love you, Marius. Do you know that?"

"Yes, 'Ponine, I know that." Marius almost laughed, but the girl's statement was weighing too heavily on his mind. "I suppose…" Did he want to make any promises now, when there was such a small chance of carrying them out? It seemed useless. And yet…

"When this is over," he found himself saying aloud, "things will be better, 'Ponine. And then, I promise, we will have a life - a good life - _together_." He reached out and pulled her close to him. "I love you." He chuckled. "Do you know that?"

"Thank God, I do," Eponine whispered, holding back tears.

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In the back of the wineshop, Courfeyrac was coming to check in on Enjolras for the twelfth time in the past hour. He laid his gun against the wall and looked down to where Joly was kneeling beside the wounded man in question. 

"How is he doing?" Courfeyrac asked mechanically. Joly replied, "I can't tell until he wakes up."

The two remained in silence for a few moments before Courfeyrac asked, "Have you seen Gavroche?"

"I can't say I have," Joly answered, furrowing his brow. "Perhaps he is with his sister somewhere?" _Please_.

"Have you two not seen him either?" asked a girl's voice, and the young men turned around to see Eponine standing behind them, worry in her red-rimmed eyes.

"Eponine-" Joly began, not really having anything to say. Suddenly, he was cut off by a resounding blast from outside, and the constant sound of gunfire all at once became more heavy. One could almost see in their mind the triggers being pressed down as hard as they would go. The three sat stock still for several moments, just listening. Then, their minds kicked in, and all three started talking at once.

"C'mon, _mon ami_, wake _up_," Courfeyrac was urging the unconscious Enjolras as he bent over on the floor; there was panic in his voice, as he knew that there was no safe place for the wounded should the barricade be taken.

"Eponine, we must get you downstairs," Joly was commanding, getting to his feet and grabbing Eponine by the arm.

Meanwhile, Eponine herself was calling, "Gavroche? Gavroche! Where's my brother? I have to find my brother first!" Then, "Marius! _Mon Dieu_, Marius!" Her eyes were wide with fright, and she was shaking wildly.

"Eponine," Joly said, attempting to sound calming. "Marius will be fine, I can assure you. We will keep him safe. But I need you to do this for me - I need you to help us get Enjolras downstairs, in the basement, where he will be safe, and then I want you to take care of him there. If we find your brother, we will send him down to you directly."

Eponine was not convinced by Joly's words, but she had no choice but to follow him; he grabbed the key from its peg on the wall and pulled the girl bodily over to the staircase. Keeping an eye on her, Joly went to help Courfeyrac lift Enjolras. Even though Joly was as small as a teenaged boy, and Courfeyrac was more wiry than sturdy, the task was not as tough as it appeared. Enjolras was shorter than the latter by inches, and his size was brought into perspective by his injury. His youthful look turned against him and he became a boy rather than a leader. It was no terrible feat to carry him down the stairs and into the dark cellar.

Eponine looked over her shoulder as she descended the staircase for the second time. Her eyes remained locked on the rectangle of light, and for a brief moment she wondered if she would ever see it again. The sounds of cannons and muskets above and around them were slightly muffled by the thick walls of the basement, but were still frightening enough to create that sense of inevitable death.

"Good luck," Eponine whispered through silent tears as Courfeyrac leaned down to embrace her. Joly was settling Enjolras firmly on a blanket he had found on the murky floor (Eponine's, from the night before), and when he finished with that, he rose and beckoned Courfeyrac to follow him out of the room. When they reached the staircase, Joly turned and said gently, "_Au revoir_."

Eponine nodded and replied, under her breath and in a grave tone, "_Adieu_," for she was certain she would never see them again.

The girl settled herself against the wall and looked up at the lines of dim light above her, created by the cracks in the ceiling. Her vision was blurred by wet tears, and she suddenly felt terribly alone. There was nothing around her, it felt, but the slow, shallow breathing of the dead man next to her on the floor.

Then, she heard another noise, a sort of muffled hiccough, coming from one of the dark corners across from her. "Who's there?" she called softly, her voice unsteady. Carefully, she rose to her feet and took a couple of steps towards the corner. There was another sharp intake of breath, and she leaned over and peered into the darkness. It was her brother.

"_Mon Dieu_, Gavroche, what on earth are you doing down here?" She held her brother's chin steady, attempting to look him in the eye, but he only turned his head and let out a small moaning noise. Eponine saw that he had been crying, and that disturbed her.

"What is it?" she asked, befuddled.

"Is he alive?" Gavroche asked, almost inaudibly. His gaze had fallen on the lump in the opposite corner that was Enjolras.

"Yes, _mon frere_, he is alive," Eponine answered gently, stroking the boy's matted hair. The ends that hung down into his face were a little wet. She sat down beside him and watched Enjolras's chest rise and fall shallowly. Above them, they could hear hell bearing down on their friends. Several hours passed thus.

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**Review please! Love, Giz**


	25. The Escape

**An aptly named chapter...**

**I do not own _Les Mis. _**

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Chapter Twenty-Five: The Escape

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"Marius, have you seen Combeferre?" 

Marius looked over his shoulder from where he was loading his gun, and found himself eye to eye with Courfeyrac. The older boy was trying to ignore a wound on his arm, but it was bleeding through his fingers, and he winced. Marius shook his head, and Courfeyrac cursed under his breath. The younger boy gulped hard. The amount of losses kept growing larger, and closer to home. As shocking as Enjolras's injury had been, Marius could not forget the wrench he had felt in his gut when Courfeyrac told him of Feuilly's death. Now, he was being informed of Combeferre's, no doubt.

The barricade was growing weaker, and it was only a matter of time, perhaps only minutes, before it was taken completely. The insurgents were growing scarcer by the minute, as the wounded were gathered into the wineshop and the fatally injured disappeared into the dust. Every now and then there would be a recess in the gunfire during which the count would take place, and the young men could take a breath. Now was one such moment.

"Better save your ammunition as long as possible," Courfeyrac warned gravely, motioning with his free hand to Marius's gun. "There are next to no cartridges left, for twenty men."

"Twenty?" Marius repeated, and Courfeyrac nodded his head. Suddenly, the afternoon appeared very black in his mind.

* * *

It was an hour, at least, later when the sound of guns cocking was once again heard from the other side of the barricade. Marius and Courfeyrac, having assumed the positions of twin chiefs upon Enjolras's fall, stood atop the barricade like sentries, holding their guns against their chests. Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from the other side: "Fire!"

Chaos ensued as gunfire went off and canons blasted like thunder. The barricade shook, just as before, but with more fervor. Marius, remembering Courfeyrac's orders to save his ammunition, held his gun ready but did not fire. He dodged bullets aimed at him, and the only shot fired was an accident (it went off into the air, harming no one). On the other end of the barricade, Courfeyrac was doing similarly. His wounded arm was pounding with pain, and oozing warm blood each time his heart beat, or so it seemed. He briefly thought to have Joly bandage it, but he knew that it was not a mortal wound, and there were men who needed attention far more than Courfeyrac himself.

Musket fire, grapeshot, cannons; the noise was everywhere, and Courfeyrac could taste the dust in his mouth. Suddenly, a loud blast shook the barricade, like a relapse from earlier that morning. Courfeyrac breathed heavily and looked around at the commotion. From his immediate left he heard a grunt and thud as a man he had vaguely met fell from the barricade, a hole through his chest. His jaw gaping, Courfeyrac looked down at his feet, and made a decision.

"Marius! Marius!" He ran the length of the barricade until he saw the younger boy crouched on the battlement, several feet above his head. Marius looked down, pushing his dampened brown curls out of his face.

"Hey?" he answered, climbing down so as to see and hear his friend.

"I don't think we have much longer," Courfeyrac said hastily. "This thing won't hold up for another hour, at _most_. Marius, we need to get Eponine out of here."

Marius looked pained; he had been thinking the same thing. "There are no roads to take, Courfeyrac. If there were, she would have been out of here twelve hours ago."

"Then we will keep looking," Courfeyrac argued. "I won't have her, or you, getting killed." Presently he winced, grabbing at his arm.

"And the same goes for you," Marius said. "Joly is not so bogged down that he can not look at his own friend." He passed his gun from one hand to the other and started to head in the direction of the wineshop, but Courfeyrac protested.

"I will be _fine_, Marius," he barked. "Now just-"

"At least tie your cravat around it, if nothing else!"

Courfeyrac pointed to his neck; he had no cravat.

Before anything could be said, however, another loud blast shook not only the barricade but the entire street. Part of the battlement shifted, then fell. Courfeyrac took his opportunity and, shielding his eyes from the smoke, pulled Marius bodily towards Corinth. There were no protests, as each was anxious to get the other to safety.

"Joly," Courfeyrac started as soon as he reached the doorway. The young doctor was tending to the chest of an unconscious man neither of them recognized. "The barricade isn't going to hold up much longer! We need to get Marius and Eponine and the others _out_."

Joly looked worried already, but at this statement his eyes got wide, and his brown furrowed at the same time. "Where… where will you take them? The streets aren't safe."

"Christian, anywhere is safer than here!" Courfeyrac rubbed his forehead, and Joly noticed the wound on the older boy's arm.

"Nicolas," he started, but Courfeyrac waved it off.

"Never mind that. Joly, would you help Marius move Enjolras? I'm not sure I can…" He was talking about his arm.

Marius looked dazed by the entire thing, but at last he spoke: "Courfeyrac is right: the streets aren't safe, but there is nowhere more dangerous than where we are now."

As soon as they opened the staircase, there was a cry from the darkness, hushed quickly by a whispered warning. The light fell upon Eponine and, of all people, Gavroche, hunched in the corner by Enjolras. The latter was still not awake.

"Marius!" Eponine sprang to her feet, but was disappointed and bewildered when he just smiled and rushed past her to where Joly was already bent over Enjolras.

"What is going on?"

"We're getting you three-"

"Four," Courfeyrac interrupted Marius. "We're going to get the four of you out of here." He glanced briefly at Marius, who was looking up at the ceiling, as though it was the one making the sounds of gunfire. "The barricade won't hold up much longer."

"Marius, help me lift him," Joly said. Eponine turned her attention back to Courfeyrac.

"No, come _with_ us," she said suddenly. "You _must_ come with us if we are going to safety." She put her hand out and took Courfeyrac's arm almost violently. It came back bloody.

"Madamoi - Eponine, our first priority is the safety of you four." He did not look like the playful joker he usually was. The seriousness in Courfeyrac's voice made Eponine shiver, and she stepped back and watched as the other two young men lift Enjolras up the steps. Beside Eponine, Gavroche stood like a ghost, making no noise at all. The girl grabbed her brother's hand and followed close behind.

They were immediately greeted upstairs by whirlwind as every standing man in sight seemed to be struggling to keep the door closed.

"_Merde_," Courfeyrac muttered. There was literally no time to lose.

The banging of the soldiers outside and the trampling of feet upstairs nearly overpowered Marius voice as he shouted, "The window!" The others understood: the windows were the only way out of the building.

Eponine, Courfeyrac, and Gavroche took to attempting to move the nearest window, but even with their combined forces the pane did not budge an inch. Eponine had moved onto the next one, but suddenly, with a resounding crash, a stool was lifted up by unseen hands and driven straight through the glass. They turned around. It was Marius.

Wedging the stool between the metal bars, they were able to pry open the window completely until it was large enough for any of them to slip through easily. Gavroche went first, followed by Marius, so as to help get Enjolras through. As Eponine was climbing over, though, her skirt became caught on a sharp edge, and she cried out. Tugging at the fabric did no good, and she looked to Courfeyrac, who was still standing beside her, for help. He leapt over the window's edge, into the street, and helped to get her free from that side while Joly took care that her skirt did not snag on another piece of glass.

Just as the Courfeyrac got Eponine through the window, there was a horrendous crash, followed by a chorus of shouts and gunshots… all from right behind them, in the wineshop. The Guard had made it all the way through. The barricade was going to be taken.

"Hurry!" Courfeyrac urged Marius and Eponine, but the girl shook her head and grabbed him by the arm. By her beckon, Joly climbed through the window and out into the street. He hurried over to help Marius carry their injured friend.

"Quick, before we're seen!" hissed Eponine, leading the way around the back of the building. Her grasp was still on Courfeyrac's wrist, but he wriggled it away, saying, "Not so tight!"

The streets surrounding the barricade were just as smoke-filled as the road itself had been, and the company coughed and sputtered as they went about their way. Every moment they expected a soldier to spin around the corner at them, gun aimed high, but with each step they took they found the buildings looking more and more safe and the streets less deserted. When at last they came upon a section of the street untouched by the barricade-builders, their hearts rejoiced silently. Another two blocks into what appeared to be safe ground, the troupe took a rest, leaning Enjolras against the brick wall of a building as the other five took deep breaths and coughed out the dust settling in their lungs.

"We never found Combeferre?" Gavroche asked quietly, for he had heard the name carried around over his head while he was in the basement. Courfeyrac shook his head gravely.

"Nor Bossuet." There was silence.

They started walking again, not really having an idea of a destination. In fact, they were beginning to get into streets even Eponine was unfamiliar with. The houses were quainter, all appearing to be homes, and they were farther apart, some even having small yards. They had been wandered amongst this neighborhood, the sounds of battle growing farther and farther away, when Marius stopped in his tracks and pointed, with a gasp, at the house they were coming upon.

Eponine turned and looked at the street sign. They were on the Rue Plumet, and here was Cosette's old house.

Marius ran up to the gate and bent the two bars apart for what seemed like the hundredth time. In moments, he was through, into the garden. Leaving the others, Eponine followed.

"What do you hope to find here, Marius?" she asked breathlessly.

"A way in," he answered, winding through the small garden and towards what he knew to be the main door, an elaborate work of glass and wood that looked in on what Marius has assumed was a sitting area.

"Inside? Inside _Cosette's house_?" Eponine bit her lip and gazed at her surroundings; the dead flowers on the withering bushes were once pretty, she thought, but now they cast an eerie tone within the small garden.

"Over here," Marius called suddenly and softly, and Eponine looked. The glass door was unlocked, and Eponine found herself looking into a dark, unfurnished room. Safety, and in the strangest of places, she mused as she entered.

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**Review please. **


	26. The Rue Plumet

**I do not own _Les Miserables. _

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Chapter Twenty-Six: The Rue Plumet

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Eponine found a looking glass in one of the front rooms. It was hanging on the wall, and it was just long enough so that she could still see herself while sitting on the floor. Wandering close to the wall, the girl sank to her knees and stared at her reflection. It stared back; a piteous sight.

Twenty four hours ago, she had been safe. She had been sitting in her little flat, perhaps sipping on coffee, or talking with Marius. Nothing had been happening. Now, she was in shambles. She had lost her safety, she had lost Jehan: her best friend beside her sister and Marius. Nothing was right. The world had gotten turned upside down… _by who_? Eponine shook her head. She did not want to think about God right now. She would put that off until her mind was not so full.

Glaring into the mirror, Eponine touched her long, brown hair, twisting it around one grubby finger. It was scraggly and dirty, and had not been cut in a long time; she usually chopped it during the summer. Now, it reached to the middle of her bony back in a sort of goat's mane. Her freckled face was nearly concealed by the more unruly pieces in front, and her black-ringed brown eyes were obscured by it. She examined her attire. Her blouse was still stained with the blood of other men, and her skirt had been ripped numerous times, coming now almost to her knees, immodestly revealing her skinny, bruised legs.

Remembering whose home she was in, however uninvited, Eponine thought, _how many times has Cosette stood in this very spot, looking at herself? _She gathered up her memories of the girl and made a sort of game of trying to imagine what the reflection must have looked like. First of all, she could see the windows open, and sun streaming through, as a slight figure in a beautiful dress stood in front of the mirror. The dress was unbelievably glamorous, with lace and frills and a handsome bodice that encased this girl's perfect bosom…

Then, remembering what Marius had said about Cosette's modesty, Eponine took away the frills and made the girl's bosom a bit smaller.

The girl wore a demure expression on her small, pale face as she gazed innocently at her likeness. Eponine looked in the actual mirror and tried to imitate her mind's image, but only felt silly. She imagined Cosette's hair, blonde and curly, falling down her back like a waterfall of beautiful ringlets. Did she have blue eyes, or grey? Eponine blinked once in thought, then went on to imagine Cosette fluttering her fair eyelashes coquettishly, admiring in her reflection the way her _blue_ eyes looked in the sunlight.

Eponine held the image in her head as she continued to gaze into the mirror, thinking these words: _My name is Cosette. I am the apple of my father's eye. My wardrobe is the size of France, but my mind is the size of Corsica. I have to wear a corset because I am a stuffy lady. _Eponine laughed regardless of her being alone in the room. _Best of all, Marius Pontmercy does _not_ love me. He loves a girl _much_ more deserving of it, a girl from a poor family, who has nothing. And he loves her _very_ much. _

And in spite of everything, Eponine began to cry silent tears of joy. _We will have a life - a good life - together, _Marius's voice said in her mind, and she smiled widely. Everything would be okay, now that the barricades were over. Yes, they had lost a few things, a few friends, but the dead were dead, just as Azelma was. There had been some happy moments even after Azelma's funeral, hadn't there been?

Eponine was startled by the noise of something hitting the wall across the room, behind her. Looking in the mirror she saw, over her shoulder, Courfeyrac, standing against the opposite wall, his fist returning from having just struck the surface against which he was standing.

"Courfeyrac?" Eponine called out. He had not seen her there before, obviously, for he jumped considerably upon hearing his name. He looked somewhat embarrassed, and his hand went immediately to his face; he had been crying as well.

"Er, _salut_," he said quickly. "I was just…"

"Do you want to talk about anything?" Eponine asked, seeing his sadness.

Courfeyrac was tacit for many moments. In the silence, he opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out. At last, he spoke, shaking his head slowly as he did so. "I just can't believe what has happened. We… _lost_. We lost _friends_. I didn't think it would be this bad."

"It was _battle_, Courfeyrac," Eponine replied. "What did you expect?" As soon as she said it, she took it back. Thankfully, he did not seem to hear it.

"Enjolras is waking up upstairs." He motioned to the stairs that led up to the room in which the others were. Eponine silently rejoiced, but the context of Courfeyrac's words was not pleasant. "I just don't want to have to figure out how to tell him what happened. He knew of Bahorel's death, and of Feuilly's, and of Jehan's, but then there is Bossuet, and Combeferre… The three of us, Combeferre, Enjolras, and myself, have been friends for years; since we began school… How do I tell him, Eponine?"

"I… I don't…" Eponine shook her head. Courfeyrac looked down at the floor, angry, frustrated tears in his gold-flecked eyes. Then, he looked back up, a softer expression on his face.

"I am sorry," he said. "You would not know any more than me." With a shuddering sigh, he walked away, leaving Eponine quite alone in the darkening room.

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When nighttime came, the group, not wanting any lights to show in the windows, took to a tiny room upstairs that had no outside walls. They lit some candles that had been found in a cabinet downstairs, and placed them in the corners so as to light up the entire room. The only furniture was an old sewing table, covered in cobwebs, and it cast a large shadow across the tiny space. 

Enjolras had woken up about half an hour after Eponine had spoken to Courfeyrac. She had not been there when the story was told to him, but she could tell on his face when she did see him that he had been informed. Now, a couple of hours later, Joly was continuing to check up on his friends' wounds. Enjolras's was under his closest watch, but he had not forgotten the bayonets Courfeyrac and Gavroche had taken to their arms. It was a stroke of divine luck that Joly had been one of the survivors, Eponine thought, or else they would not have had a doctor with them.

"How are you feeling?" Eponine asked Enjolras at one point, for lack of anything to say. When he did not respond, she looked over at his face, and was startled to see that he did not even appear to have heard her voice. His eyes were staring off into space, locked onto an invisible point, and on his pale face was a look of lassitude. Eponine understood, she thought. He had been planning this revolution for years, practically as long as he had been in school, only for it to end in the deaths of his closest friends, and nothing more. Nothing _good_. Yes, Eponine understood what it was about, never mind that she was not the one experiencing it. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and for a brief moment he looked over at her listlessly before returning his gaze to nothing.

It was hard to tell exactly what time it was when they decided to sleep, as the two watches in the room, Joly's and Marius's, read differently, but it must have been some time after midnight, by the way the moon looked when Gavroche sneaked out into the house to look for a couple of pillows. The room was actually quite comfortable, having the sense of safe, close quarters rather than that of a cramped hiding spot. They kept one candle, closest to Joly, burning throughout the night.

They were not disturbed.

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The next morning, hunger struck like an epidemic. The irony of their impending troubles was almost a laughing matter between the Thenardiers and Joly, who sat like children listening to each others' stomachs growling like tigers, audible to each other. Marius, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras watched with working minds. 

"There is no food here," Courfeyrac said dismally. "I checked yesterday."

"I am sure we have some money between the six of us," Marius suggested.

"But we do not want to be seen leaving a deserted house while the police are still out looking for insurgents," Enjolras reminded him. They were at a stalemate.

It was in the early afternoon when the idea came to Joly. He was checking Enjolras's shoulder again when the words came out of his mouth, "An outside source!" Then, he turned to Marius, who was watching from above. "Musichetta!"

"Your mistress is going to bring us food?" Enjolras inquired. He sounded just as sarcastic as he always did when he said such things, but this time his tone was far more light. Something was slowly changing in him, his friends had noticed, even in the past few hours. He was handling things differently. "And how is that any safer than one of us going out?"

"I will go out, get her, and bring her back," Joly said. "We will just have to risk it. We need food, we need more supplies, and we can't stay in this house forever."

It was decided. That afternoon, Joly threw a coat they found over his tattered barricade clothing and set off towards his own flat, hoping he would not have a run in with the police.

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**I know, this chapter really sucked, but it was the only way I could think to make the story go the way I wanted it to. Still, please review. Love, Giz. **


	27. Musichetta

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Musichetta**

It was after dark when Joly finally arrived back at the Rue Plumet, Musichetta on his arm. The lengthy time between his departure and his return had had his friends worried, but he explained calmly how he and Musichetta had been delayed inside the flat by the prescence of policemen in the streets below. The lawmen would have been wary of a scuffily-dressed young man escorting a woman across town with food and basic supplies in tow. Henceforth, they had waited until the policemen had left the area. They had taken the fiacre only three quarters of the way so that they would be less likely to be seen entering the deserted house.

Musichetta was the very illustration of femininity. Two or three inches shorter than Eponine, who was already too tall for her bony frame, the young woman had pale, creamy skin that became rosy across her cheeks. Her face was pleasant and laughing, and there were two little dimples beside her rosebud mouth that showed when she smiled, which was often; nearly always. In contrast with her fair skin and childish face were her hair and eyes. She had black curls, not unlike those of Joly, which reached down to her back, and her eyes were an enchanting black-brown that sparkled with emotion and simply glowed when she was happy.

It will be noted that this description's purpose is to create a general picture of Musichetta as she might be found at any other time of the year. On this day of June seventh, there was no laughter in her eyes, nor was there pink in her cheeks. The pink was more likely to be found rimming her eyes: Joly had told her on the way of Bossuet's death.

Musichetta had never been to school, but a combination of her having lived with Joly and the motherly feel in her touch made her just as pleasant of a doctor. Gavroche noted this while she was tending to his arm later that night (the gash was deeper than Courfeyrac's, Joly had said, but it would heal properly all the same). The small boy looked up at her with a curious look on his face.

"What is it you are thinking of so intently?" Musichetta asked, smiling faintly.

"I was just wondering," Gavroche asked, wiggling his noise, "…Are you 'n Joly ever going to marry?"

"Christian and I?" Musichetta blushed. "I'm… Well, it's complicated." She started to say something further, but stopped herself.

Gavroche winced as she accidentally touched a particularly tender spot on his arm. "Sorry," she muttered, gasping a little.

There was a long silence in which Musichetta continued to clean Gavroche's wound (Joly had only done the best he could with what little they had had at the barricade) and the child continued to wince and hiccough. They were sitting in a small washroom upstairs, with the curtains drawn closed so as to conceal the light from the candle. They could hear Courfeyrac's snoring from the little room with no windows. Finally, Musichetta spoke.

"What is it that I see going on between M. Pontmercy and your sister?" She smiled girlishly, and her voice was far more lighthearted now than earlier.

"You mean the love-eyes and all?" Gavroche grimaced. "I dunno. I stopped paying attention to it. Got sick enough of it living with them."

"Oh, silly," Musichetta said dotingly. "One day you're going to be just like M. Pontmercy, you just watch."

"A complete dolt, you mean?" (Gavroche was actually quite fond of Marius).

"No, Gavroche," Musichetta corrected. "In _love_."

The boy stuck his tongue out, but hiccoughed again in mid-gesture. "Don't count on it. I've had enough of women just being around my sisters." Then, remembering Azelma, Gavroche paused and looked melancholy for a moment. Musichetta understood, and kept silent; Joly had told her about Azelma after having helped out with the Thenardiers.

Musichetta re-bandaged the boy's arm in silence, and when she was done she leaned over, kissed him on the head, and dismissed him. As she watched him leave the room, she put her hand to her stomach and hoped that her son would be half as willful and witty as Gavroche.

That night, Gavroche fell asleep in the corner, thinking deeply of the mother he had once known.

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June the eighth was just as sunny and fair as the sixth had been dreary and damp. The group of escapees, now amounting to seven, were woken up early by the sun, and breakfasted on food brought by Musichetta. There was a common genial mood, even in the wake of the past few days. Joly and Musichetta went off by themselves to talk, Courfeyrac was clandestinely teaching Gavroche foul words in German and English, and Enjolras was looking on with hidden amusement.

Marius found Eponine upstairs in a bedroom with lots of light pouring in through open windows. Anxiously, he turned and closed the curtains, and the room went dark again. Eponine turned in surprise towards him, a slight frown on her face.

She had found herself another mirror. It was smaller, and framed with white ceramic that was painted with small flowers. The room was clean and prim, with a white frilly daybed still in one corner and several feminine trinkets sitting in clusters atop some carved end tables crowded next to a large wardrobe. It was not hard to guess whose bedroom this had been.

Eponine was wearing an intricate blue bonnet on her head. The large silken bow tucked under her chin looked like the foolish collar of a doted-upon cat, and Marius had to smile. He walked over to where the girl was standing, and looked in the mirror alongside her.

"I used to dress like this, do you know?" Eponine said thoughtfully, fingering the fabric. "Wonderful, expensive things. Like this hat. I think…" She tuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth as she adjusted the bow. Admiring her handiwork, she finished, "I think I actually had one just like _this_."

"It's beautiful," Marius told her. "_You_ look beautiful." Eponine smiled, then got a funny look on her face.

"Do I look like her, Marius?" She went back to her reflection. "Do I look like her in this hat?"

"Like who?"

"Like _Cosette_," Eponine answered. "Do I look like Cosette in this hat?"

Marius was a little taken aback by her question. Was that spite in her voice? "No, Eponine," he said gently, untying the hat for her and taking it off of her head. Beneath it her brown locks had gotten mussed and tangled together. "You look like _you_."

"Well, what does Cosette look like?" Eponine asked as Marius put the hat back in the open drawer of the wardrobe he was guessing it had come from. In response to his action, she opened up another drawer and sifted through a small collection of jewelry and hair ornaments. She tried on a necklace inset with small green stones, and then looked dazzled over a pair of rose-shaped earbobs. She was distraught to find that the clasp on the back of one was broken.

"Well," Marius bit his lip. He was striken to suddenly find that a picture would not come to mind. "She's small, pale, blonde hair. Nothing really remarkable." Three months ago he would not have even thought this to himself, let alone spoken it.

"Really?" Eponine was not truly listening. Once she got the necklace fastened around her neck, she just stood there and stared at her image in the mirror, a vague frown on her face. Then, her unpleasant expression broke, and she smiled furtively.

"What?" Marius inquired.

"Nothing," said Eponine, shaking her head: she had been imagining Cosette wandering around the barricades in a ripped skirt. How would the precious little Lark fare against the National Guard? It was a sadistic joy to picture.

"Eponine," said Marius, reaching to take the necklace off of her. "You are fine without things like these. And stop comparing yourself to Cosette. She is gone to me now, 'Ponine. She is in _England_."

Eponine smiled. "I hoped that you would say that." She stood on the tips of her toes, and kissed Marius on the lips.

"_Arschgesicht_!" Gavroche's voice carried easily up the stairs when he shouted this from below, in the dining room.

"Courfeyrac, _what_ did he just call me?" they heard Enjolras ask incredulously, but with a laugh to his voice.

Eponine and Marius broke into smiles, and Eponine threw her arms over his shoulders, burying her face in his shirt front. "_Je t'aime_," she said softly, a giggle still on her voice.

* * *

That night, they left.

After making sure they had picked up every trace of their having been there, the group of seven left through the back door and made their way through the streets, trying to stay just as surreptitious as they had been the night after the barricades. The three older boys had not coats to hide their telltale clothing, so the shadows worked to their advantage. The sky was clear, but there was no moon.

It was decided that Courfeyrac and Enjolras would stay with Joly. He had a large flat, with room to spare, and, much to Enjolras's ado, the Apollo's injury still needed the occasional check. Eponine, Marius, and Gavroche would return to their own flat by fiacre once the others had gotten settled. It was a difficult and strange parting for the group, knowing that as soon as all of this fluster and confusion surrounding the barricades was over, the grief would set in. It just hadn't happened yet, except for Musichetta, who weeped for Bossuet when no one was looking, and for Joly, who weeped for Musichetta.

In the fiacre on the way to the Rue Seguier from Joly's flat, Marius looked over at Eponine who was wide awake beside her sleeping brother, and said, "Joly told me just today that Musichetta is going to have a baby."

Eponine smiled widely. "Will they marry?"

"In Febuary, right after the baby is to be born."

Eponine grasped Marius's arm. "A happy ending for the both of them. What will they name it?"

"Damien, if it is a boy, after Bossuet."

"And if it's a girl?"

"They aren't sure yet. Musichetta wants to name it after Joly's mother, Arianna."

"A lovely name." Eponine sighed contently, and rested her head on Marius's shoulder. She remained thus for the rest of the trip.

It was the world's biggest relief to arrive back at the flat after such an ordeal. Eponine threw herself down onto the sofa. It felt like a year, at least!

"Already smells like dust," Gavroche noted with a yawn as he sank down beside her. Eponine put her arm around his shoulder, and he did not protest.

Suddenly, Marius appeared beside them, a curious smile on his face. When Eponine inquired, he held up a creamy white envelope. It had feminine writing on the outside, and was addressed from England.

"How fitting!" Eponine giggled, recalling the conversation held in Cosette's room earlier that afternoon.

Marius sat down on the sofa beside Eponine, and she read the letter over his shoulder. Gavroche had already fallen asleep.

_My Dearest Marius_,

_I have the best news anyone in this world could possibly bear: I am returning home to Paris!_

_I could not be happier at the thought of seeing your face again, rather than just imagining it as I read your letters. Oh, what a joyous occasion, to return to your arms at long last! Within in the fortnight I will be back in the little house on the Rue Plumet, sitting in the garden, perhaps talking to you if Papa permits._

_The decision was made when I fell ill several days ago (do not worry, it was not serious), for the fourth time since we have been living in England. Papa decided that it must be homesickness…_

Neither of them could read any farther.

Cosette, returning from England… The idea was too strange to grasp. And after so long an absence… Marius had never felt so ashamed to have forgotten someone! Earlier, he had hardly even been able to remember her face!

Another guilty thought tugged at his mind: he had been lying to Cosette, in all of his letters. The boy he had spoken of was attending all of his classes and living with Courfeyrac, and, as he had written in a more recent letter, was having nothing to do with the supposed insurrection in Paris (Cosette had inquired about some rumors she had heard, saying that she was frightened for Marius. He assured her falsely that he was going to stay as far away from it as possible). In addition, the picture of his life that he painted for Cosette housed a living Azelma and lacked grief. How would he explain to Cosette that he had lied about all of that? The Marius from his letters was pretend, and under the circumstances, there was no possibility of Marius acting it out. There was going to have to be a confession.

"How long until she gets here?" Eponine asked quietly.

The letter was dated for a week before. They had approximately seven days before Cosette arrived.


	28. Silence After the Storm

**I do not own _Les Miserables_.

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**

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Silence After the Storm

* * *

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, Courfeyrac."

Eponine laid her hand across the young man's back as he slouched on the sofa beside her. His eyes were dark and distant, and his olive skin looked sallow, his mouth still pursed from having told the unpleasant tale of his excursion to the site of the barricades. Upon arrival, he asked, what had been done with the dead? His "brother" had been fighting, he believed, and he at least wanted to see his body, for he wore a family heirloom watch. This story was, naturally, invented, as all of Courfeyrac's three elder brothers were successfully planted elsewhere, but it was his only excuse to get through and see if he could locate the bodies of his friends left behind.

He was unfortunate enough to find Combeferre amongst those whom the officials had yet to bury in their unmarked mass graves. The tall, blonde boy had taken three bayonet thrusts to the chest, and his eyes were still open. Courfeyrac, shaking and tearful, closed his best friend's eyelids and told the man in charge, _I know this boy. His parents will want his body back_. Having been granted approval to take Combeferre's body with him, Courfeyrac took him (it?) to the hospital coroner, who had known Combeferre, and requested that the boy's family be contacted. His wish was to be carried out, he was told with a sympathetic smile. It was from there that he had come to Marius's and Eponine's flat. Marius was over at Joly's, but Eponine was in and prepared to provide comfort.

"I wanted to look for Damien, and Marc, and Jehan, but I could not bear to see anymore of them. Of the dead."

"I understand," Eponine said softly, tears coming to her eyes at the mentioning of her friends. "But you did a wonderful thing, sending Combeferre back to his parents."

"They loved him very much," Courfeyrac added. "As did Jehan's. I will always regret that I could not find him."

Eponine's eyes welled up with tears moreso at the mention of Jehan. His murder, inches away from her own face, still haunted her dreams in the form of frightening images.

It was the ninth, and the sunshine was still strong in the clear sky, mocking the grief on the faces of so many Parisians. Eponine was wearing a dress borrowed from Musichetta, as her own clothes had been ruined. The garment was pale blue and incredibly soft, and Eponine felt as though she were in Cosette's room again, back at the Rue Plumet. Thinking this only brought that wretched letter to mind, though. It was all she could do not to pile the worry of Cosette's arrival upon the heavy burdens she already carried, surrounding the barricades and her injured friends and so many other things. In the wake of disaster, Marius and Eponine were going to have to do all they could to make ends meet. Eponine would have to take up a job, she had decided, perhaps at the same bookshop Marius translated at, but if it would earn money, she could do it. Her happy little life was always just around the corner.

Even with the danger of the insurrection behind them, there was still the impending threat of the police, continually out looking for stray revolutionaries; anyone who might cause further trouble. The boys were careful not to let their injuries show in public, a tough job when considering the nasty bruise that had blossomed on Marius's cheek. A bayonet wound in the arm would not have come through ordinary means, they knew.

Staying indoors was not a difficulty for some, namely Enjolras, who had been blessed with a high fever the morning before. Joly was riddled with his consience, knowing that it was the result of his faulty care after the accident at the barricade. Enjolras assured him that he felt fine, and would be over it in no time at all. His friends did not know what to believe; in the time they had known him, Enjolras had never once fallen ill.

Another matter of business came to mind within the next couple of days. Their friends would not get a burial, save Combeferre, who was now in the hands of his parents, but they should still get a funeral. In light of this decision, they all gathered in Joly's flat the night of the twelfth for a makeshift dedication to their friends. Musichetta read from the Bible a little, and while she was among the minority of believers in the room, the other boys listened out of reverence, and paid attention with the whole of their hearts. Not an eye remained dry, and both girls wept openly.

That night, after changing into the soft-fabric chemise lent by Musichetta, Eponine said goodnight to her brother, ruffling his hair as she did so, and then went across the room and fell back onto Marius's bed. When he walked in a few moments later, Marius found Eponine fluffing his pillow and humming to herself, tears in her eyes.

"What are you doing there?" Marius asked softly, a smile on his face. Eponine looked up at him with her damp chocolate eyes.

"I miss them," she muttered. Marius sat down beside her and put on hand on her cheek.

"I do too," he said. Then, "Everyone does."

Eponine yawned, and then frowned. "Everything's wrong," she said. As soon as she had said this, Eponine rethought her words and, almost smiling, added, "Alright, not _every_thing_." _She looked directly up at Marius.

"Things will get better, 'Ponine," Marius assured her. "Remember, I promised."

"Mmm-hmm," Eponine hummed, closing her eyes. Just when Marius thought her to be asleep, she murmured thoughtfully, "Tell me again what Cosette looks like."

Marius sighed, and was about to speak when he looked down and saw that Eponine had fallen fast asleep. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead before carrying her to her own bed and dousing the lamp.

* * *

**A brief note, no criticism: I have no idea what people did with dead bodies back in the 19th century, particularly during insurrections. I made up the thing with the coroner. Let's just assume that M. and Mme. Combeferre came and got their son, and that's that. **

**Please review. Love, Giz. **


	29. Account of a Confrontation

**A showdown in which I use a lot of points of ellipses. **

**I do not own _Les Miserables_. I just borrow the characters in order to torture them like this.

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**

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Account of a Confrontation

* * *

Two days later, Eponine dropped a few sous in her musty purse and set off from the flat on an excursion to buy some bread from the baker. She was wearing clothes borrowed from Musichetta, who enjoyed the idea of having taken the younger girl (by six years) under her wing as a sort of sister. The dress was too large in the bosom, but Eponine could cope. She looked presentable as she sauntered down the street with her small money bag closed in one hand and her feet scuffing on the paving stones thanks to her too-large shoes.

The weather was cloudy again, giving the sky the look of a very dull puddle of water hovering overhead. It looked like rain; Eponine could smell the faint, distant damp scent that accompanied a summer shower. A sense of foreboding came with it: it had not rained since the barricades.

It was not necessary to come near the Luxembourg gardens on the short trip, but Eponine found herself wandering down in that direction once she had bought herself the bread. There were not many people out in the streets, she noted as she looked around her. The clouds held the heat in.

Eponine took special care to look away when she passed the Rue de Gres, where the Café Musain was.

If the streets were empty, the gardens were spotless. There were but two pairs of people in Eponine's sight as she skipped along the pathway, kicking a stone in front of her: an elderly couple holding hands and pointing out the flowers to one another, and a couple of young students laughing amongst themselves. When Eponine passed them, she waved subtly and smiled, going about her meandering way through the garden, humming snippets of songs to herself. It was then that she saw the girl.

She looked about the same age as Eponine, perhaps a year younger, and was impossibly small-framed. Even through the folds of her skirt one could tell her hips were as narrow as a cranny. She was plainly dressed in a modest black dress, and her blonde curls were pinned back out of her eyes. She was leaning over the railing before a small pond, holding a single sou in her hand and dangling it above the water. Puzzled and drawn, Eponine stopped and looked at the girl for a moment. There was something familiar about her…

"_Bonjour_," the girl said suddenly and confusedly, and Eponine realized she had been staring. Now, however, she was sure of what she saw in this young girl.

"_Excusez-moi_," Eponine rushed to say. "But… have we met before?"

The little blonde girl screwed her face in trying to answer this question, but she came up blank. "I… I'm not sure." She bit her lip, then heaved a decisive breath. "My name is Cosette."

Eponine's breath caught in her throat, and it was all she could do to stammer, "Ep.. Eponine. Eponine Thenardier." She swallowed hard. So this was Cosette…

"Oh!" Cosette gasped in disbelief. "Is that really you, Eponine? You look… so different." Then, she smiled. "Marius wrote about you several of his letters! I am so glad I am getting to meet you again." There was a vague, whimsical undertone in Cosette's manner of speaking, like that of a very pensive child. Eponine looked into Cosette's eyes: they were grey, not blue, and they sparkled with youthful wonder.

"And I am glad to meet you, too," Eponine said. "Marius spoke so highly of you while you were gone."

Cosette blushed deeply, and Eponine felt a pang of guilt upon remembering that the lying would have to end somewhere. "Did he, really?" the younger girl asked hopefully. Eponine nodded, and had to hate herself a little for doing so.

"Would it be possible…" Cosette started out dreamily. "If you could, I mean… Where… Where is Marius?"

Eponine bit her lip. "He's at work right now, down at a bookshop near where we live." She tried to put the emphasis on the word "we"; it would not hurt to prepare Cosette for the truth. However, the girl did not seem to catch on to the hint. She just frowned prettily.

"When does he finish for the day?"

"Around five o' clock, usually."

There was a long silence during which Cosette fingered the coin in her hand, seeming to contemplate throwing it into the water. She looked thoughtful and sad, but Eponine could not help but notice and criticize that she was dressed as though someone had just died. The poor thing…

"That is only two hours from now," Eponine found herself saying. "I have enough bread for a meal if you would like to come back to our flat and wait for him. He will be glad to see you, I am sure."

Cosette's eyes grew wide. "Oh, I would love to, Eponine! But my papa… I am not sure he would let me out of his sight, what with, you know, the way the city is now, _after the fighting_." She said the last part in a hushed tone, as though it had a dirty meaning.

"Oh," Eponine said, not too disappointed. "Then why don't you come back here tonight at, say, six? I'll bring Marius and my brother, and perhaps… perhaps we can all go dine together, just for the occasion!" (The boys would certainly agree, after so many days of being cooped up indoors).

"That would be wonderful!" Cosette giggled. "Then six o' clock, right here? With Marius there, I just _know_ my papa will let me go!"

Eponine almost felt sorry for the girl as she watched her go on her way a few moments later. _That was me some time ago_, she thought, remembering the day when Marius first approached her about finding out Cosette's address.

"You shall have the beautiful young lady's address," Eponine said aloud, laughing to herself at the obsolescence of the words now. She went along the path back home, skipping along the flower beds and humming to herself.

* * *

If Eponine had been stunned to see Cosette back in France, Marius was beyond astonished at the idea of going out to dinner with her. They had already made the arrangements with Joly and Musichetta, who were more than delighted to plan an evening out for a change. They were two members short, however, as Enjolras was still not feeling well, and Courfeyrac was undergoing a temporary gallant spell and had decided to stay at Joly's flat and look after his best friend. In conclusion, it was too late to back out of the deal. 

"I knew I would have to face her sooner or later," Marius said to Eponine as he tried to make sense of his rumpled cravat. "I just assumed - er, hoped - that it would be later."

"I do not know why you are so worried," Eponine returned, shaking her head. "She is a charming girl, really, and if all you say is true-" (she threw Marius a meaningful Look) "-neither of us have a thing in the world to stress over."

Gavroche, who was sitting on the bed, huffed noisily. "I still don't see what's the matter with me staying at Joly's flat."

"I won't have you getting sick, 'Vroche," Eponine warned. "Assuming what M. Enjolras has come down with is contagious." She reached up and straightened our Marius's cravat. "How was he when you last saw him?"

"Grouchy," Marius answered. "What would you expect, living in that apartment, with Courfeyrac, Joly, and a weeping Musichetta combined?"

"If _I _were Musichetta," Eponine said, her eyes narrowed, "I would be in tears just as frequently."

"Not the point I was going for," Marius concluded. He checked his watch. "We have… ten minutes."

"Gavroche, get your shoes," Eponine said hurriedly. She looked at herself once more in the mirror; she was dressed in the blue dress from earlier, but she had taken great length to wash her hair. It was still damp, but it was decent. Things were coming along.

* * *

"And what happened next?" 

"I started wheezing, _right _in the middle of the exam. Of course, the professor would not let me leave, so I had to sit there, my face in my sleeve, while those around me scurried to make sure I wasn't _dying_."

Cosette giggled whole-heartedly at Joly's story. Her pale face was jubilant, and there was a rosiness to her cheeks that had not been there that afternoon in the Luxembourg. Marius and Eponine watched with equal apprehension. Opportunely for them, Cosette seemed quite taken with Joly; the same fortune could not be said for Musichetta. Fortunately, the young girl posed no threat; Joly had still been clutching at Musichetta's hand throughout the evening. Eponine could only imagine how badly they wished they had the flat to themselves.

"'Vroche, if you fall asleep like that you'll land with your face in your food," Marius said quietly to the small boy, who was sitting beside him, teetering sleepily. Gavroche opened his eyes, which were anything but alert.

"How long have we been here?" Musichetta asked, leaning over to see Joly's watch.

"It is almost half past nine," he exclaimed. "I do hope Courfeyrac is not worried."

"If anything, he will be dreadfully bored," said Eponine. "I imagine Enjolras is asleep."

"Oh," Cosette said wistfully. "I _do _wish I could meet the rest of your friends!"

"Perhaps when Enjolras is better," suggested Joly. "We have all heard so much about you from Marius here." It was not strictly true, but such flattery seemed to please this child.

"Well, I really must be getting home to Papa," Cosette said, biting her lip. "I hope we can do this again sometime?" She posed it as a question: did they want to include her further?

"Certainly," said Eponine, truthfully. She had enjoyed Cosette's company, much to her surprise. Still, she knew there were some things Marius had to take care of before their friendship could be determined…

"We will escort you home, then," said Marius, courteously. As Joly and Musichetta went off to find a fiacre, he stepped towards Cosette and said in an undertone, "I must speak with you, alone." The small girl nodded, her eyes wide.

"Now?"

"Yes, I have arranged to catch another fiacre, so that we can talk."

Eponine walked over deliberately, Gavroche held close by one arm; the boy was asleep, even in a standing position. "I will see you when you return," she said, before reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. Her face burned with a brilliant blush, knowing that Cosette was watching. Before she could see a reaction, Eponine hurried away to join her other friends.

Once they were alone, Marius looked down at Cosette, one hand on his burning cheek. The girl's eyes were wide and bright.

"Oh," she said softly, as though everything was suddenly reaching her at once. Marius studied her face carefully. Her lower lip quivered, but she held her head steady and looked past him, at the empty street.

"Cosette," he said, reaching out to touch one blonde ringlet. "I… I never meant to hurt you… I just…"

"I understand," Cosette said, nodding her head too quickly. "You did not think I would come back." When she saw the look of shock that appeared on the boy's face, she hurried to add, "No, I did not mean that spitefully. I really _do _understand. I said we may never see each other again. It was I who gave you permission to move on. I just didn't think…" She broke off, and Marius saw that small tears were forming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said hesitantly. "I should have told you in one of my letters that Eponine and I are… I'm sorry."

Cosette sniffed. "She said she'd see you when you returned… Are you living together?"

"Yes." Marius was both ashamed and proud of the fact. "She had nowhere to go, and I had some extra space…" Already, another lie was forming. "Her sister died. I didn't tell you that. We were both going through some hard times then, so my friends paid for us to move into a real flat."

"_Azelma_?" Cosette looked shocked. "Poor thing…" She wiped another tear from her face. "I'm sure you and Eponine are both better off living as you are now. But what has become of her parents?"

"No one really knows," Marius said regretfully. "Her mother died, she said, and her father appears here and there, but never really speaks to her."

"Of all horrible things… God bless her. And her brother… Gavroche, he is called? I remember him, a little. I took care of him when he was very small. I am sure he does not remember, though." Cosette looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, she changed the topic. "It was very nice to meet your friends after all of this time. M. Joly seems so _nice_, and Musichetta is _wonderful_. What are your other friends like?"

Marius could not tell if Cosette was truly interested, or just making conversation, but he answered her nonetheless. She listened intently as he described Enjolras's dry sense of humor, and Courfeyrac's charm. She blushed upon hearing of the latter's reputation, but she laughed as well.

"And which one was it who you admitted helped you with your poetry to me?" Cosette was still giggling through her tears.

Marius stopped talking abruptly. _Oh God. She wanted to know about Jean Prouvaire…_

"Jehan?" he said, sweating considerably. He was aware of Cosette's patient gaze on him.

"That's the one!" She recognized the name.

"He… He died."

Cosette's mouth gaped. "Oh… Oh, _Marius_!" She flung her arms around him without precedent, nearly knocking him over. "If I had only known, I would not have brought it up." She pulled back to examine his face. "When? How? Or do you not want to talk about it? It is fine if you don't. I know Papa never wants to talk about my mother. I suppose it is for the same reasons."

"No, Cosette, it is fine, really." The truth would have to come out sooner or later. "He died just last week." Marius gulped. "In a fight."

"A _fight?_" Cosette repeated incredulously. "In Paris? Or was it in a barroom? I heard of those while I was in the convent-"

"No, Cosette. A _battle_. Has your father told you of the insurrection?"

"Well, he mentioned that things were 'unstable' here, but I _do_ remember you writing about it now that I think of it. Did it _really happen_?"

"Yes. Last week."

"But you are unharmed?" She did not wait to answer. She performed a brief body check, and then sighed from relief. "I am so glad! If you had been killed, I do not know what I would have done, had I heard about it. But I see you listened to me, and stayed away from it all! If only your friend had done the same… "

Marius was beginning to become impatient. "Cosette, listen." He put one hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him again with those same doe eyes. "I have been _lying_. I have been lying to you for weeks, now. I… My letters… I am sorry to have to tell this to you, but I made up a bundle of those things I told you. I did not want you to worry about me-"

"What did you make up?" Cosette's voice was high-pitched and anxious.

Marius heaved a sigh. "I have not been attending classes. I have not been living with Courfeyrac… I did not tell you of Azelma's death, nor of Eponine living with me…"

"If I had known you were not well off I would have begged Papa to let me return!"

Marius continued: "And most of all, the barricades… I did not stay away from them. I fought there. I actually commanded them, after Enjolras fell."

"He is _dead_?"

"No. Only wounded. I did not lie about that. But most of my friends - almost all of them - _did _die there."

Cosette was looked bluntly away from him now, her grey eyes wet and distant. She was beginning to shake. Marius looked at her small, sad form and wondered where on earth he had pulled the strength to harm her in any way. Regret came pouring into his heart instantly. But then again, this was bound to happen sometime. He had just never expected that time to come.

"I'm so sorry," he said, not daring to touch her, lest she start crying.

"I just want to know," she said, sounding strained but controlled. "Why?"

"I did not wish for you to worry, Cosette," Marius said, his own eyes damp. "There were so many things I knew you would worry about, but I didn't want to risk your unhappiness. I'm _so _sorry."

The conversation ended there. Marius hailed a fiacre, seeing that Cosette would be saying no more. The ride to the Rue Pumet was silent as midnight, but whenever Mairus glanced over at Cosette's face, it was staring straight ahead, blank.

When they arrived at the Cosette's home, Marius saw the girl to the gate of the garden, and then watched as her small figure made its way to the glass door. Cosette was greeted by her father's open arms, into which she gladly fell. Marius's heart lurched, and with tears in his grey eyes he turned around and asked the driver to take him home.

* * *

**I know Cosette is brunette, but every Cosette I've seen onstage has been blonde, so that's why I made her that way. And let's just pretend that Valjean is letting her stay out with friends that late. **

**About Joly's and Musichetta's wedding: the date of their wedding has been changed to before Musichetta starts to show. I had planned it so that I would not have to talk about it much in the story, but it was brought to my attention that it would make more sense to go ahead and get married before the baby, seeing as how this is 19th century France, not 21st century America. **

**Review, please! Love, Giz**


	30. Amends

I do not own _Les Miserables_.

I fear that the end is near... tear drop

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Chapter Thirty: Amends

* * *

"I still feel terrible about it," Marius told Eponine for the millionth time. It had been two days since Cosette's return, and the couple was sitting on the sofa in their flat, attempting to make sense of the emotional mess Marius seemed to have gotten himself into. He had come home inconsolable that night, wrenched by the thought that he had hurt Cosette so badly. He could not forget the image of the poor girl falling into her father's embrace, crying. And on his part! 

_Why did I have to lie in the first place_? he asked himself over again. _Why did it matter if she worried about me or not? _

"Do you know what I think you should do?" Eponine asked, turning to look at Marius.

"What?"

"I think you should go and talk with her."

Marius put a hand to his temple. "And I would say _what, _exactly? What words could suffice as an apology for everything I've done to her?" He looked down at the cushion beside him.

Eponine did not know how to answer, so she made do with saying, "That is a decision for you to make."

"She will not want to see me, in the first place."

"And who are you to say say that?" Eponine argued. "Using reasoning, what would you be coming over there do do _besides_ make amends?" Marius did not answer. "Then she _will want _to speak with you. She loved you, you said? Then she will not want to break all ties over something like this. It was, after all, her who told you not to wait."

Eponine's speech put a light of hope in Marius's eyes, and he sat up straighter. "You're right," he said simply. "_Merci, ma cherie_!_" _He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth before rising from the sofa. He looked out the window beside him. The weather was heavenly, with no clouds and a light breeze that took the edge off of the heat of mid-June. Below, in the streets, Marius could see a few _gamins_ playing with a stray cat, Gavroche among them.

"I will see you later, after work," Marius said to Eponine as he went to the mirror to correct his cravat.

"Are you going to go by Cosette's?" Eponine asked.

"First thing," Marius answered. "It isn't exactly on my way, but I have time to spare, and I'm sure M. Travert will be kind if I'm late." He tipped his hat, trying to hide the nervous shaking in his hands.

Outside, Marius passed by Gavroche and his friends, who were curiously positioned over an open manhole leading into the sewers.

"Marius!" called Gavroche, seeing his friend. A smaller _gamin _teetered after him.

"We lost the cat!" the smaller boy said, pointing resolutely over at the manhole. He reached up and flicked a fly off of his ear.

"Poor thing went down into the sewers," Gavroche said gravely. "We can't see it anywhere."

"I think it's going to die," said the other boy. He could not have been older than seven or eight.

Marius raised his eyebrows in concern. "Perhaps it is better off on its own down there," he suggested. "I suppose it could not be worse than whatever the two of you were doing to the poor creature."

"We was playing war with it," the little boy declared. Gavroche put his hand on the kid's shoulder.

"This is one of my _momes_: Bruce," he said with a paternal smile.

Laughing, Marius began to walk off down the street. "I have somewhere to be, but I'll see you later 'Vroche." _A boy I would not mind having as a brother_.

* * *

Half an hour later, Marius stood on the stoop of the Rue Plumet house, his hand poised to knock on the door, and a million thoughts swimming through his mind. 

_What if she does not want to see me? What if she says she hates me? What if she starts crying?_

_What am I going to say in the first place?_

He took a deep breath.

_Thump, thump_.

A short, stout woman with grey flyaway hair and a startled expression answered the door. She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sudden appearance of an unfamiliar young man standing on the stoop outside. Then, she remembered her manners and stuttered in her habitual way, "Y…Yes, Mons…ieur?"

"_Bonjour_," Marius began, wringing his hands. "Is Cosette home? My name is Marius Pontmercy-"

The woman's eyes lit up, and she smiled. "Th… the baron himself? I have heard s… so much about you! M… Mademoiselle will be out d… directly."

"Cosette?" Marius heard the woman call into one of the rooms behind her. "Th… There is a y… young man at the door. A M… Marius, I believe?"

"Tell him to meet me in the garden, Toussaint," Cosette called back after a moment, unseen. Toussaint turned back to the door and said kindly, "Mademoiselle wishes to see you in the g… garden."

Marius smiled and nodded at Toussaint before stepping off of the pavement and turning towards the iron gates of the garden. As soon as the door was closed, he went over to the gate and wriggled aside the iron bars until he could get through - just as he had so many times before.

The feeling of being inside the garden was not as awe-inspiring as it might have been, as Marius had been there in secret a week earlier, housing himself and injured friends. But through the canopy of flora and bright blue ceiling stones above him, sparkling sunlight shone through, reminding Marius of all of the days at the Luxembourg, watching the Lark from a distance, and he suddenly became very nostalgic.

Then, he saw Cosette.

She was seated on the stone bench not two yards away from the gate, with an empty space beside her and her face turned towards the left, so that Marius would not see it. Her hair was pinned back in a sort of bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a modest green dress. Her posture was prim and self-possessed as she remained silent on the bench, her eyes fixed sternly before her.

"Cosette?" Marius bravely took a step forwards, hie heart pounding. What had he done to this poor thing? He had never once seen her look so still and melancholy.

"I am not mad at you," she said suddenly, without turning her head. Her voice was level, but it was also soft.

"What?" Marius asked confoundedly.

"I am not mad at you," Cosette repeated, at last turning her head. Marius saw now that there was no angst in her grey eyes. Her face was calm and collected, and her words were clear. She motioned to the spot beside her on the bench. "Sit," she ordered.

Marius took a seat on the stone bench, and listened as Cosette continued to talk.

"Nothing was your fault, Marius," she said first, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I was the one who left, and I gave you permission to… to move on. Please don't feel bad about it. You had every right."

"Cosette," Marius said, shaking his head. "I _lied _to you-"

"And I forgive you," Cosette answered. There was a tightness to her face, like she was trying her hardest not to cry. Marius tried to tell himself he had not seen it. He could never bear to make her cry…

"That does not change the fact that I should have _told _you," Marius argued. "I should have told you everything before you had to come back and figure it out for yourself. I was wrong to let Eponine kiss me in front of you last night. I just didn't want to have to _tell _you. I thought I would rather you _see _it instead, but now I'm not so sure…"

"And it is _alright,_ Marius," Cosette said again, more forced. Her eyes looked bright and teary now. "I did not expect you to wait. I did not." She straightened up her posture. "I did not," she said again, more decisively.

"Cosette," Marius moaned again, looking her straight in the face. "I loved you. You were everything. And I do still care about you, but…"

"You can not see yourself ever marrying me?" the girl finished.

"I'm sorry," Marius was quick to say.

A silence followed, but it was broken some moments later by Cosette. "I do not think I ever told you," Cosette said tentatively, "but I have known Eponine almost my entire life. We were children together, in the town of Monfermeil."

"I know," Marius said, nodding. "Eponine told me." He winced at the hurt in Cosette's eyes when he mentioned his best friend's name.

"She and her parents and her sister treated me horribly," Cosette went on. "I don't think the girls knew any better, though. I was a maid to them and Gavroche, and they were just following their parents' example."

"Eponine told me once," Marius said, "that if she could go back, she never would have treated you that way."

"And I believe her." Cosette looked up at the sky and smiled a little. "She is a nice girl. I like her, now."

"And I as well," Marius said softly. Cosette looked at him sideways, a curious look on her pale face.

"Have you spoken with her father yet?"

Marius blushed. "I… He is a bit hard to find. One never knows where he is." Cosette smiled at Marius's embarassment.

"And yours?" Cosette swung her legs back and forth in front of her. "Your father, I mean. Have you asked?"

Marius did not answer. He just smiled and looked over at Cosette. She looked small and delicate; more like a child than Marius remembered. Still, he loved her… Just in a different way than he once had.

"How would you like to come to dinner with us again sometime? You can meet Courfeyrac and Enjolras, if they are feeling better…"

"Oh, I would love that, Marius!" Cosette threw her arms around his neck. When she pulled back, she was flushed and grinning widely. "Friends?"

"Friends," agreed Marius.

Some twenty minutes later, they parted with an embrace, and Marius left the garden with a smile on his face, a promise to return, and knowledge that Eponine would permit him to do so. Perhaps he would even bring her along.

Before Marius reached the bookshop and began his work for the day, he had one more matter of business to attend to. He hailed a fiacre and, handing some coins to the driver, headed off in the direction of his grandfather's home.

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**Review please. **


	31. Grandfather Gillenormand

**This is sad - I'm almost done! I've only even finished one fic before, and that was a _High School Musical_ one, so it doesn't count anymore. But seriously - this is the last chapter, except the epilogue. Enjoy.**

**I do not own _Les Miserables_.**

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Chapter Thirty-One: Grandfather Gillenormand

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"I'm afraid he had taken ill," Nicolette said to Marius. The two were standing in the front hall of the Gillenormand house, the former standing with a humble, wide-eyed expression beneath the concerned gaze of the latter.

"Ill?" Marius repeated. "He will see no one, then?"

"_Oui_," said Nicolette, bobbing her small head. "But you are his grandson… Perhaps he will see you?"

"Perhaps," said Marius. "if you will permit me to go up to talk to him, then I will see."

Nicolette timidly bit her thin lip. "_Oui, _Monsieur le Baron. Up you go, then." The young man tipped his hat and began to climb the familiar stairs.

When Marius entered the dimply lit study, he saw his grandfather seated in an armchair by the window, looking out over the street, a peaceful look on his wrinkled yet spry face. "Father?" he called softly, nervously aware of the business he was here to tend to.

"Marius?" Grandfather Gillenormand turned around, surprised at the sound of his grandson's voice. Marius saw a delighted light in the old man's eyes. "Is that really you?"

"Yes, Father," said Marius, repeating the title without thought.

Gillenormand laughed out loud. "Oh, he has called me Father!" he said under his breath, so that Marius could only distinguish a slight mumbling. "How delighted I am to see you."

Marius was unnerved by his grandfather's display; had the old man not always despised him and chastised him as a child? Would this new persona work to his advantage today, of all days?

"Have you come here to say hello, or is there another matter of business?" Gillenormand inquired, one eyebrow raised.

"I… I have something I wish to ask of you," Marius said, taking his hat off of his head. He took the seat across from his grandfather's.

"Well, go on and ask me." The old man hiccoughed. He was perfectly healthy.

"I am almost twenty-two," Marius began, "and I feel as though I am old enough to make these decisions myself. But I thought it was in my best judgement to ask your permission first, at least."

"My permission for what?" Gillenormand asked warily.

"I wish to marry."

"You wish to _marry_?" Grandfather Gillenormand nearly choked. "At your age?"

"I am old enough, Father," Marius urged cooly. "I am-"

"Twenty-two, yes," his grandfather finished for him. "Now tell me, who is it you wish to marry?"

"A girl named Eponine Thenardier, Father," said Marius, timid after his grandfather's outburst. "Father, I… I love her."

"And how large is her dowry? Plenty of money, I presume?"

"None. She is an orphan." Not strictly true, but Marius knew there was no way of tracking down M. Thenardier to ask for his daughter in the first place.

"No money, no family…" Grandfather Gillenormand snorted. "How will you live, do you expect?"

"Any way we can-"

"Off of a loaf of bread a week and the paving stones for a pillow?"

Marius did not interrupt to say that he had lived in much worse conditions with her before. He planned to wait out the argument.

"Silly boy! You senseless dolt! You come to me saying, 'Old idiot, I desire to marry, I desire to espouse mamselle no matter whom, daughter of monsieur no matter what, I have to shoes, she has no chemise, all right; I desire to throw myself to the dogs my career, my future, my youth, my life; I desire to make a plunge into misery with a wife at my neck, that is my idea, you must consent to it! And the fossil will consent!'" The old man laughed bitterly. "Never, monsieur! Never!"

"Father!" Marius cried desperately.

"Never!"

The room went silent as Marius rose from his seat and began to pace the room miserably, his head hung, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of his wandering feet. His breath was shallow and labored. Finally, he raised his head, one hand to his temple, holding back some chestnut curls that were falling into his damp grey eyes.

"Father," Marius said one more time, weakly.

"I shall not let you marry," Gillenormand declared resolutely. He looked with a stone expression up at his grandson, and his heart sank. The poor young man was crying! Twenty-one years old, and here he was, wiping falling tears off of his cheeks.

"Marius, my son…" the old man started, unsure of what he was going to say. His heart and mind were busy holding court: it was absurd, certainly, to let such a young fellow, still so new to the world, marry, and especially to a poor orphan girl with no dowry! It would be a black mark on the family to allow such a thing. And yet, Marius _was _old enough to make his own decisions, Gillenormand realized. He said he loved the girl, after all.

"You are determined to wed this girl?" Gillenormand confirmed. Marius looked up.

"With every breath in my body."

"Then…" The old man drew a deep breath. "Then it will be done."

"Father…" Marius's eyes grew wide, and he clutched at his hat, an incredulous look on his face.

"I give you my permission," Gillenormand repeated, "and my blessing."

* * *

Marius arrived back at the flat that evening in a halo of joy. The sun was still burning high in the sky, as these days in the middle of June seemed to drag on forever. Gavroche and his friends were still in the street, inventing some bizarre game with the obviously rescued cat. The poor creature looked miserable.

"_Salut_," Marius called to them as he passed on his way to the front door of the building.

"_Salut_," a few of the boys responded. Gavroche, who had been holding the cat, set it down on the ground and bounded over to where Marius was standing, a look on his face that suggested he had something to say to the younger boy.

"Don't say anything," Marius instructed, reaching into his pocket. Gavroche watched with wonder and glee as Marius revealed a thin golden band of a ring.

"_Mon Dieu_!" Gavroche exclaimed. "When are you going to ask her?"

"Right now." Marius took in a deep breath and looked over at the stairs.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Gavroche assured his friend… and soon-to-be brother.

Marius nodded and turned to climb the stairs. When he reached the door to the flat, he could hear Eponine singing to herself inside. The smell of potatoes engulfed him as he turned the knob and opened the door.

"'Ponine?" he called out, and the girl turned away from the stove. Her eyes went wide.

"Marius!" she answered gleefully, bounding towards him. She reached up and pecked him on the lips. "How did it go with Cosette?"

"Great," Marius answered. "Everything went great."

"I'm so glad!" Eponine smiled brilliantly before going back to her cooking. She stirred what appeared to be a sort of soup.

"I, uh, went by my grandfather's house on the way to work as well," Marius said slowly.

"You said you two disagreed on things," said Eponine. "Have you worked things out with him as well?"

"Yes," said Marius. "But I went there for something more important."

Eponine turned to him, curious. "What do you mean?"

Marius reached into his pocket and felt for the ring, as if to make sure it was still there. "'Ponine," he said as he pulled it out. "I have something to ask you."


	32. Epilogue: With What We Have Been Given

**The final chapter, the writing of which took place while the author smiled tearfully and listened to the _Walk to Remember _soundtrack to help set the atmosphere.

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Epilogue: With What We Have Been Given

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One Year Later

"'Vroche, do not grumble; you said yourself you would rather stay in Paris, with Courfeyrac."

Eponine ruffled her twelve-year-old brother's hair and looked amusedly at the boy's furrowed brow. "I was _not _grumbling," Gavroche said declaratively. "But… you are going to visit soon, right?"

"Right," echoed Eponine, laughing to herself at the way her brother's face softened. "And next time you see me, you will be an uncle!"

Gavroche grinned at last, looking fondly at Eponine's heftily pregnant stomach. The baby was due in a month, planned to be dutifully named Jehan if it was a boy, and Lucia if it were a girl, after Eponine's mother. She had briefly thought to name the child Azelma, but the named carried too much weight to belong now to anyone else.

"I will miss you," Gavroche admitted, reaching up to put his arms around his sister's neck. She warmly accepted, placing her single bag down on the paving stones beside her.

It was June again, a year after the revolution, and Marius and Eponine, the latter now known by Mme. Pontmercy, were leaving Paris to live in a small house in the country, not far away from the sea. At first the idea, suggested by Eponine, seemed impossible: to leave Paris after a lifetime walking its streets. Slowly, however, they realized that the city would not be the ideal place for raising a child, so they followed Joly's and Musichetta's action of purchasing a small house in the beautiful countryside of France. Their incomes had not been enough to purchase a large home, but it did not matter to Eponine. She was running on the sheer excitement of owning and sharing a real house with Marius by her side.

If the first days of being the wife of Marius had been bliss for the girl, each day had only brought new joy to her heart. By this point in their marriage, Eponine did not believe she could grow to love him more; and yet, with every second she _was_.

_This must be how heaven feels like_, she had told Musichetta at one point. The older girl could not agree more. After years of living with her beloved Joly, she was now his wife, and the mother of little Damien Joly, a bright and bubbly baby boy with the distinct and already thick black curls belonging to both of his parents. _And soon, that will be me!_ Eponine thought.

"All set for the ride?" said a voice from behind Eponine. She turned around and saw Courfeyrac standing there against the waiting carriage, his usual grin on his face.

"Yes," Eponine said politely, standing on her toes so as to peck him on the cheek. "And I could not thank you more for taking care of my brother."

"My pleasure, Mme. Pontmercy," said Courfeyrac with a shake of his mousy-brunette head. He put an emphasis on the surname, an implication that made Eponine blush. "Best wishes, and do be careful." He gestured to her stomach.

"Thank you so much for everything," Eponine said once more.

"Alright, I'm ready," said the voice of Marius from several feet away, behind the two friends. Eponine turned and now saw her husband, a grin on his face, prepared to climb up into the carriage. Standing beside him was Enjolras, a newly characteristic smile on his handsome face. Things had not been the same for the formerly somber young man in the past year. He had become more lighthearted, easier to speak to and befriend. Eponine thought with a heavy heart that it had something to do with the loss of his revolution, and the fond memory of his lost friends. In the wake of devastation, he had realized as many do that grief is not appreciated by the dead.

Eponine's eyes locked in on Marius, who was looking straight at her, smiling lovingly. The girl could not control the brilliant, delighted blush that filled her cheeks as she rushed to his side. "As am I," she responded to his statement. Grabbing his hand, she looked around at her friends, and let Marius help her up into the fiacre.

"I will see you all soon," she promised as the group said their goodbyes, and the carriage set off down the Rue Segiur.

Once the others were out of sight, Eponine turned to Marius, smiling joyously. "I will miss them all so much," she said wistfully.

"As will I," said Marius. "But we can return to visit as often as we like, you know." Eponine nodded.

"I know."

The fiacre rolled on, and the couple joined hands, watching as Paris went by on either side. Familiar buildings and faces came and went. When they passed by the Musain, Eponine felt Marius squeeze her hand more tightly.

Remembering their friends had been hard for Eponine and Marius, and for the others, since the fateful day a year ago. Even after their marriage, Eponine had had nights where she woke up from terrible dreams and spent hours afterwards crying silently into her pillow, attempting to not wake Marius. Similarly, Marius would be roused by Eponine murmuring in her sleep. Mostly, she would speak Jehan's name. _God knows she will never forget what she saw_, Marius thought, shaking his head.

As time passed, however, the couple found it easier to visit the memorials for their friends. There were no true graves, as only Combeferre had been retrieved, and his body had been taken by his family. Still, the four remaining ABC boys had put together their money to purchase engraved headstones in their friends' memories, stones that marked nothing but meant everything. Now, there was a place to visit and remember. Eponine went every week, and sometimes ran into one of the others.

"It feels so strange, to be leaving them here," Eponine said. Her statement could have been referring to anyone, but Marius knew who she was talking about. Then, she turned and asked, "Can we go visit the Gorbeau place, one more time?"

The young man nodded grimly. She wanted to go see Azelma's grave, too. As the Gorbeau place was so far away from their usual haunts, the couple had only traveled there about once a month, so when they did so it was of utmost importance.

As Marius watched Eponine gaze out at the city, he noticed something around her neck. It was a necklace consisting of a gold chain and a dazzling charm with a pink stone in the middle. "Where did that come from?" he asked, pointing to the piece of jewelry.

"Oh," said Eponine, an eager smile on her face that suggested that she had been waiting for him to ask. "It was Cosette's. She gave it to me the last time I went to visit her."

Marius felt a wave of joy that his wife and Cosette were getting along. He knew that they would in the end; Cosette was not one to hold grudges. In fact, she had been going out to dinner with the entourage regularly, ever since she had returned from England; at least, after a lengthy talk between Marius and M. Fauchelevent.

Unbeknownst to Cosette's father, and supposedly to all others who knew, Cosette was quite taken with Courfeyrac, the latter of whom did not mind their friendship one bit. At first, Marius thought of giving her a warning against Nicolas Courfeyrac's ways, but it appeared as though the boy had settled down some in the past year, particularly after seen that it was possible to feel affection towards a girl who did not flaunt her bosom as though it was in a museum.

"_I do hope things will turn out nicely for Cosette," _Eponine had said once after returning from the girl's house, and Marius could not agree more.

So much had changed in the past year of his life, Marius reflected. A year and a half ago, he had been stark poor, living in the Gorbeau tenement, obviously unaware of the girl and her sister living next door to him, and secretly courting a young girl with whom things would never quite work out. Now, he had a loving wife, a child on the way, and a new home in the beautiful country to look forward to. Of course, he had lost _so much_, what with the revolution, but in the end, the sappy truth was that his friends would always be with him, no matter how far out of Paris he was.

As the fiacre hit a rough spot in the road, Eponine slid into her husband's shoulder. "_Salut_," she said jokingly to him, and he laughed, holding her closer. And as he looked into her chocolate eyes, and fingered her long brown hair, Marius could not help but think, things could not be better.

And as Eponine would say later that night as the carriage rolled on underneath the light of the moon: _"I have the funniest feeling that all this time - all during the hardest parts, back when my sister died and when you had no home, I mean - I have the funniest feeling that we've just been falling _up_, not down. Up to where we are supposed to be. Up to here, right here. Because now, after all that, things are finally alright, and still getting better."_

And Marius, with tears in his eyes, leaned over and kissed her on the lips, and had to agree.

* * *

_I searched through my pockets one day,_

_Looking for a twenty,_

_To buy a ticket down the train tracks,_

_Just a few stops too many to walk._

_And as I overturned all the cushions and ransacked the closet_

_And forgot to pray,_

_I looked to the door, and saw you standing there._

_You had no money, but you had two hands, and two eyes,_

_And you helped me look._

_It took us all day and all night,_

_But by morning we found a fifty_

_At the bottom of a drawer,_

_Where I would never have bothered to look before._

_And with that fifty we bought two tickets for the train_

_And went as far as we could on the ten dollars left._

_And now we are together,_

_With all we have been given,_

_And for now, that is just enough._

_

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_

_C'est fini_.

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**Thanks _so much_ to all y'all's reviews. And a special thanks to frustrated student and Pontmercy for President for keeping up with the story until the very end, and then to running in circles for convincing me to take on the barricades, something I was seriously considering leaving out. Reviews keep the stories going!**

**As sad as I am to finish this one, I have several others already being worked on. I just have to figure out which one to go with for now. So hopefully you guys will enjoy reading those too.**

**For the last time,**

**Love, Giz.**


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